On My Mind
by mjaw
Summary: Set S5. Post Triangle. To fight an evil Buffy has to journey not only into her own subconscious, but the subconscious of one bleached vampire, to find the answer to a riddle.
1. Unwanted Particulars

Dear reader,

I'm very happy to be back with another story! Hopefully you'll enjoy it!

It takes place in Season5, between Triangle and Checkpoint. Here's a short up-to-date. Spike is a lot in love with Buffy. Riley's gone, gone away; having left a few weeks before this story occurs.

I wish to hear from you! That's all I ask, as always, in return for posting my words on this site. I hope you'll take the time to indulge me. I am much obliged to those I know always do.

Talk to you soon.

All My Love – Annie.

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**On My Mind**

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**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ Unwanted Particulars ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

It was one of those days. It had started out as one of those days, and now, as she sat across from her Watcher, listening to what he was telling her she was supposed to do, she realized it would most certainly end as one of those days. And there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

¤

It had begun at eight-fifteen, when she had woken up and realized she had overslept. Almost an hour. It had continued as she stumped her toe while getting dressed, a minor injury, but even with Slayer bones a pretty painful one. Muttering she had walked downstairs to find the kitchen in chaos after another one of Dawn's attempts at inventing a new recipe for whatever.

"It's Saturday," the older had moaned. "What is she doing up this early?"

What she herself was doing up that early was something she had been asking herself rather frequently since missing her alarm going off, but still she had dutifully trotted to Giles', where she knew she was supposed to set up shop for the rest of the day. While trotting, she had contemplated the past week. Nothing to report, out of the ordinary, anyway. There had been the slight conjuring of a troll, and the resounding clash of Willow and Anya, but that wasn't something extraordinary.

This morning had been spent looking into something Giles had received the evening before. It had been delivered in a white box, tied with a red bow, and had consisted of two pieces of paper, on which written in red had been simply:

_Within there are answers to where mourning will_

_Occur, if there's none I am destined to kill_

_Make the journey and you shall find_

_The dark and the chosen will read my mind_

"It looks fairly simple, if you want to read it as a threat," Giles stated as the Scoobies had taken their seats in his living room.

"'Destined to kill' would make it sound like he's pretty upfront about it," Buffy nodded.

"Well, at least he's an honest murderer," Xander chimed in. "Most of them won't even confess to the crime _after_ they've committed it."

"'Mourning will occur' surely points to the place where these crimes are supposed to take place... So he's saying we have a way to find out and... stop it," Giles continued, oblivious to Xander's jibe.

"Great. Wish he could've put down a more exact location, but hey, we've worked with worse, right?" Buffy said.

"Yes, but I believe he did," Giles murmured, eyes glued on the lines on the papers in either of his hands. "The answers lie 'within'."

"Uh-huh," she said. "Within what?"

"I opt for a blueberry muffin."

"Breakfast is coming, Xander," Giles replied tartly. "Can you let it go for five minutes?"

"I'm hungry. Brain of Xander no work on empty stomach."

"Well, _there's_ a loss for the greater good." Xander didn't have time to part his lips before Giles turned to Buffy, saying: "The last sentence implies that you know where these killings will occur. 'The chosen will read my mind.'"

Buffy's eyebrows rose and she leaned forward slightly, thinking; then she said:

"If you ask me, 'where mourning will occur' sounds like a cemetery. Where do I spend most of my nights? Let's just stake them...all... out and..."

"No," Giles shook his head, gaze once more on what he was holding. "No, I fear it's not that simple. This is a game. I believe there is wordplay in these sentences. Our writer is referring to his – or hers – mind. And within there are answers... I believe the answer is in fact a memory you share, somehow, with the writer."

"Telepathy," Anya said.

"No, something remembered."

"Something remembered? Have we ever had a villain to fight who's not only killing-prone, but also rhymes and likes to play games?" Buffy asked, her face suddenly clouding over with realization.

"Give you a hint, sounds like 'Pike'," Xander offered.

"This isn't his style," Willow remarked. "He's all teeth and claws, and he can't hurt us anyway. I mean, there's no motive."

She got everybody's eyes on her for that and she smiled a small smile.

"No motive for him to make the Slayer wanna go stake-happy," she clarified.

"Will's got a point," Buffy slowly agreed. "'Sides, he's been on the wagon for so long I doubt his legs remember what the road even feels like."

"And there's this other part of the last line..." Giles began tryingly, unsure of how to phrase it.

Buffy frowned, then straightened her back a little.

"You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"Buffy, I've been considering our options..."

"For ten minutes! Ten minutes does not for deep considering make!"

Giles merely gave her an odd look before attempting to finish his sentence with:

"And the 'dark'..."

"Could be _any_body!" she cut in. "Could be Anya. Could be Dawn."

"Dawn used to be a glowing ball of light, I don't think she fits the category," Xander said.

"Oh, so you'd rather it'd be Spike? You'd rather have him be an actual needed part in the solving of the message and the saving of however many lives?" Buffy shot and Xander shrunk back against the couch. Buffy looked at Giles. "There's no way it's him. It just isn't."

This was where the day had gotten even worse.

¤

She hated the cemetery hosting his crypt. She hated the look of the place, the smell of it, the sinister feeling of death and brutality which greeted her whenever she felt forced to set foot in it. She liked his door, though. It was so easy to kick in.

"Good morning," she greeted, grabbing his duster and barely looking at him as she threw the garment at him. "Rise and shine. Or glower or snarl or whatever it is you do. You're coming with me."

He got off the armchair, cocking an eyebrow. She met his gaze, unflinching.

"Now," she added.

"What's in it for...?"

She brought her stake out, and the next moment it was whizzing by his right ear, splintering against the wall behind him.

"You get to keep the next one from smashing into your ribcage."

He gnashed his teeth, but began to pull on the leather coat.

"Sure know how to make a bloke feel special," he muttered. "Where're we going, anyway?"

"Giles'."

"And am I allowed to ask why?"

The sarcastic glint in his gaze didn't escape her, but she ignored it. It was simpler being angry at having to rely on his help.

"You'll find out when we're there. He'll explain everything and... Where are you going?"

The last was asked as he headed for a large trapdoor in the floor.

"Tunnels," he said. "I have this slight case of sun-intolerance, case you'd forgotten."

"And here I was hoping _you_ had," she said curtly, coming up to him. "What're you doing up anyway?"

He rested his eyes in hers in an almost odd way, a flash of something undefined in them, before he shrugged:

"Couldn't sleep. Go ahead," he urged.

"No, you go ahead, I'll follow."

He smirked.

"What novelty's this?"

But he did as she asked and took the lead. She merely huffed, then climbed down after him.

¤

And then the moment where the worsening bad day had dropped as low as it could possibly get, when Giles – after Spike had stopped smoking from the sun and had taken a seat on the couch – said the ominous words which had Buffy's head reeling in a very, very bad way. An omen kind of way.

He looked at Spike and then at Buffy and said:

"We need to find a way to get to whatever you know that's supposed to lead us to the killer."

Spike's eyes were growing round with wonder at this point, since the explanation he was due, was still pending. Giles continued:

"I don't believe a trance would be enough. Willow and I talked it over while you were gone, Buffy, and she put forth a proposal, which I admit I had contemplated myself, though it comes with a fair amount of risk." He paused, and Buffy knew this was serious since he needed to search for the right words. "It involves a form of hypnotism which will have you both fall deeply asleep, and then a spell which will take you both into one of you at a time so that you can search your subconscious for the memory you are both to have in common with each other as well as with the killer."

Nobody said anything for a full minute.

Here the reeling of Buffy's head came into play.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Spike finally broke the silence.

"For the first, and only _ever_, time, I second that," Buffy said. "And let me add – have you completely lost your mind? You're talking about letting _him_ into my head? Literally!"

Spike's eyebrows rose.

"That's what he's on about? Sounds... intriguing."

"Sounds petrifying, I'm not doing it. Especially not if I have to spend time inside _his_ head on top of it!"

Spike stared at her, clearly taken aback.

"I agree with her, doesn't sound like a good idea," he then said quickly. "We should try the trance thing... Why are we doing this again?"

Buffy motioned to Giles to tell the vampire what he was doing there.

"The answer to the riddle lies inside of you both," the Watcher said. "You have to search and find it or innocent people will die."

"So we'll have a _chat_," Spike shrugged. "We'll dig it out. Don't have to sodding blow our heads apart for it. You lot are good with the yapping, yeah?"

"It doesn't work like that," Buffy said. "How can you be one hundred years old and not figure it out for yourself? Think if it was that easy we'd even be here?"

"What? You're _always_ here. Huddled together." He widened his eyes and then smirked. "What are you _really_ doing?"

"Well, there _is_ the fair amount of yapping," Xander cut in, the irony coolly slipping off the vampire as he turned his eyes in the mortal's.

"Now I'm bored," he sighed, getting to his feet.

Buffy followed his movement easily, putting a hand against his chest and pushing him back down.

"Remember that part about not going poof? Still stands."

"Right, because this is such a bloody brilliant idea," he snarled.

She glared at him, then looked away.

"It's the only one we have," she said with a glance at Giles, who gave a slight nod.

"I'm not bloody doing it. There's no way in hell I'm doing this. Do you bleeding well hear me, Slayer!"

¤

"Look into my eyes," Willow said, voice gentle. "Look into my eyes."

Buffy felt her eyelids slowly begin to grow heavy. When Willow brought the mirror up she was already half asleep, and the soft light reflected onto her face only helped enhance the sense of tranquility, of the complete trust she held for her friend. It would be alright. Everything would be fine.

The vampire had no such conviction as he stared at the Wicca. Dread seemed set to squeeze his heart back into life. He was paralyzed by the fact that he most surely was signing his own death warrant. He'd be dust, no matter the outcome of this little endeavor. Because how could Buffy not walk the pathways of his subconscious without ripping it to pieces? Without noticing the traces left by what he had kept so well-hidden? He tried to tell himself he was having a terribly vivid nightmare and that all he needed to do was shake himself awake. This was why it took longer for his eyes to close, for him to relax enough to actually meet Willow's gaze – and not merely notice it was there. But once he surrendered, he was as lost as Buffy, swirling into himself, into an abyss he didn't want to face.


	2. Something New

Hello to everyone!

So excited to read all your reviews! Makes me happier than I can ever tell you to read them, thank you so much! Private messages will be sent thru the reply button on the signed reviews, but for those who signed anon I'll post a shout-out here.

Vanessa (Merci beaucoup! Je suis trés... happy:) Thanks so much! I'm very happy to see you're reading it! And how's your little fille or garcon? Did I get that right?) :), Ari (Love your name. And muahahahahahahahaha! So nice to make you curious. Hope I can make it last!) ;) and starhawk (lovely you like! Here's the update!) :)

To all, as always, much, much obliged and hope you'll enjoy the following.

A.M.L, Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Something New¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

"Where are we, then?"

"You're asking me?"

"Oh, so you're there."

"Yes, I'm here. Who did you expect to answer? Santa Clause?"

"Lay off with the bloody attitude, Slayer, we're in this together."

"God, it's been five seconds and I already wanna wake up."

There was a small silence and she tried to see through the darkness, but there was nothing. No speck of light to lend her keen sight any help.

"Are we _supposed_ to be blind?" he then asked.

"We're not _blind_," she answered.

"Can you see?"

She didn't want to reply, but finally said:

"No."

"Right. We must be inside _your_ head. I've never known anyone who pulls down the blinds so bloody often."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your Slayer face. Putting yourself on a different track. Not liking to show your softer side. Hey, I get it."

"I'm just not soft around _you_," she shot. "You make me all prickly and only-square-edges-y."

There was a click and then the space flooded with light.

Spike was standing to her right, his hand still resting on the light switch. She raised her eyebrows.

"Bizarre," she said, looking around at the whiteness of the walls.

They were in a corridor and it looked as though it stretched on forever ahead. As well as behind.

"Like I said – _your_ head."

"My head's not bizarre," she protested, an unintentional hand touching her cheek, forehead.

He smirked.

"I wasn't talking about the shape, love."

She brought her arm down with a jerk, scowling at him.

Then he frowned, and her attention was elsewhere as his gaze turned back to the light switch.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I think... I remember this place."

"Hah! _Your_ head!"

But he didn't respond; he was too involved with what he felt he should have a clearer picture of. And then, with a click resembling the light switch, it all fell into place. And with an astonishing speed their surroundings changed. Doors appeared in the walls. They were heavy, painted gray, and had small windows at eye level. He turned his head to look down the corridor, and Buffy followed his gaze.

Her eyes widened slightly as she saw an apparition of him rounding an invisible corner up ahead.

Everything shifted into slow motion as she began to take a step forward.

The apparition was a Spike with the black leather duster flying about him as he moved down the corridor with clear sense of purpose, his eyes yellow from his demon, blood coloring his lips deep crimson.

The only thing that wasn't sluggishly down-paced was Buffy's heart. It was wildly racing within her at the sight of the vampire so vicious in appearance.

Another form passed beside her and for a second she thought it was the Spike she knew, but it was an orderly, dressed in white and rushing to try and stop the intruder. Everything sped up again, and Buffy's step was finally finished just as the apparition met the orderly and without blinking grabbed his neck, twisting it forcefully to the side.

Buffy's hand went to her mouth.

"Can't believe I'd almost forgotten," Spike murmured at her side.

She didn't take her eyes off the other one, as he stopped in front of the door closest to them, braced himself and kicked it down. He disappeared inside.

Buffy's brow was deeply furrowed. She wasn't sure how to process this. She was about to turn her head to the vampire, when the apparition stepped through the door again, this time he was holding something in his arms. Something wearing a pretty white dress, stained with red.

"Spike," Drusilla said, voice just barely audible.

"Hush, love," Spike murmured softly, both the one standing in front of the Slayer, and the one standing beside her. "I'm here. It'll be alright."

The apparition began moving the same way he had come, once more out of sight as he rounded the corner again.

"Can't believe I'd almost forgotten," Spike repeated.

He looked absolutely flabbergasted, but it didn't make Buffy go the big weepy. She found herself staring at him with her loathing for him rising like chilled mist through her.

"I wish you hadn't remembered," she said and he seemed to finally realize she was still there, turning his head to her with a dazed expression in his blue eyes.

"She was sick," he said, not even knowing himself why he did. Buffy's face grew stale. "I thought she was dying. And the buggers locked her up in here. Took her away from me. Couldn't have that."

"No, of course not," she scoffed, voice cold, unforgiving. "Kill them all. That'll make her better."

"I didn't...!" he said, a flash of anger in his gaze. "I had to bloody get in! Had to get her out. Would you have done anything less if someone you loved was in that position? If Dawn was?"

She slapped him hard.

"Don't talk about my sister. Especially not like that."

He took a step closer.

If she only knew how much he cared for the Nibblet, the bloody bint wouldn't act so high and mighty, would she? But then he shied away, taking a step back and bringing his eyes out of hers. He didn't want her insight. He would've rather turned the lights out again than have the Slayer shine her way further into his being.

"I don't know how this works," he said. "I don't know how to get the information we need," he elaborated at her cocked eyebrow.

"Try and concentrate on memories of Sunnydale," she said bitingly. "Might be a start."

He wanted to strangle her, he honest to God did in that moment, but simply closed his eyes and made himself steady his thoughts. Tried to find something that would take them to a place they had shared, a memory they'd have in common.

Buffy didn't enjoy this feeling of being torn from place to place without any warning of what was to come, or even any clue. It was unsettling. Even more, it was eerie. Mostly she thought it was a huge mistake that she would never be able to rectify, but partially she considered the possibility it entailed. Getting a front seat view of this constant dark blur in her life might help with making it out, with filing it away once and for all. Not that she had any high hopes.

The scenery bled into the shadowed corners of the Bronze.

At least they were taking steps in the right direction.

But her eyes fastened on herself, on the slowly dancing form of her standing in the middle of the otherwise empty dance floor. There was no music. There was no one else around. The club was deserted. And then she noticed them. The shapes of Spike. All around. Sitting on a chair, smoking, standing leaned against a wall, against the stairs, against a table, standing, watching. Her. There was only one with the gameface of his demon on, but it was enough for goose bumps to spread their caution through her.

All eyes were on her other self, there wasn't even a whisper disturbing the silence.

Buffy stared at the faces of the duplicates. They were hungry, waiting, impatient.

"Stop it," she finally demanded, looking at the Spike she assumed was the actual one.

"I'm not doing anything," they all replied.

Then, as though given a cue, they began to move forward, approaching the dancer. Buffy took a step forward as well, but it was too late to stop it. They encircled her image, standing closer until she wasn't visible any longer. Buffy felt panic tear through her, her mind not able to process the fact that it wasn't real. A sudden pain rushed through her neck and she realized she had been delivered a bite.

He was feeding!

Her hand went to the spot to the left of her throat.

His fingers ran through her hair and though he really wasn't anywhere near her, she brought her locks tightly into one hand, staring at the scene before her.

"Stop," she repeated.

But when she felt his tongue slip over her upper lip she drew a tight breath, her throat constricting with outraged surprise at the soft rush in an angled corner inside her.

Suddenly the image of the vampires crowding her was wrought around, swiftly turning into a dimmed spectrum before brightly folding in on itself and becoming something small and round and silvery which hung in the air.

She blinked, hand still at her throat.

What had just happened?

She didn't think as she carefully approached the hovering orb. Reaching it she put out her hand, and it softly landed in the middle of her palm. How full of wonder was this? Before her eyes the sphere turned black and she frowned. It looked just like... She rubbed it with one thumb and concluded that it was coal. Wrapping her fingers around it she squeezed it tightly, and when she splayed her hand open again the coal broke apart, revealing its sparkling core.

A diamond.

She was absolutely enchanted by the perfectly shaped gem. It glittered seductively, larger than life, splendid in its simplicity, awesome in its rareness.

Then Spike was standing before her, and she wasn't taken aback.

He reached out and took the diamond from her, holding it up to the light.

"Nothing good can come of this," he grumbled.

"What'd you mean?"

"You're not supposed to see what's inside," he said, giving the stone one last look before drawing his arm back and throwing it.

It went like a projectile straight through the wall.

She began to snap out of whatever weird state of mind she had slipped into, and her gaze met his with questions tentatively beginning to form.

They were torn from the Bronze straight into calamity.

Buffy ducked as a large demon swung one paw at her head. She herself wasn't instigating the movements; she was being remembered doing them. She _was_ the memory this time.

The demon came at her again and she jumped up, delivering a double kick – one foot to its head, one to its stomach. It flew backwards and landed in the dirt with a hard thud. She looked up and her gaze met Spike's. He had a cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth, his thumbs hooked into his belt, and he wasn't lifting a finger to help.

She rolled her eyes at him, bringing an axe forward and suddenly she began to recall this particular fight. She raised the axe and sunk it through the stomach of the demon. Before she knew what had happened it lay, split in two, before her on the ground. She hadn't expected that much damage.

She looked at the vampire with disdain.

"Here you go all demon-killing-happy and you just stand there?" she asked.

"You expecting my help, or you asking for it, Slayer?"

"I'm just saying," she muttered, picking the axe up and beginning to walk away.

"Maybe," Spike said, and she heard a strange cracking noise behind her, making her slow her step. "Just maybe I didn't get into the fight 'cause I was waiting for it to get better."

"Adding insult to very near injury, what a nice way to wrap up my..." she began, turning around to find herself facing the demon she had just slain. Only there was two of it. Her eyes widened. "You didn't tell me you could do that," she remarked, bringing her axe into fighting position. "You should come with a serious warning tag."

"Yeah, cut in two – will multiply," Spike smirked.

"So, you gonna jump in now or what?" she asked.

"If you lend me that big, shiny weapon you're swinging," he said.

She hesitated, then grumbled and threw him the thing.

"Fine," she said, "I brought this," she added, reaching back and pulling out a sword from the sheath she had slung on her back. "How do I kill it?"

"Cut off its head," Spike answered as he blocked a punch from his demon.

"Why is it always its head?" she wondered, parrying a blow from hers, ducking and kicking out a foot again, this time hitting it on the shin. "Why couldn't it be its arm, or its bellybutton? Its heel?"

"Because that doesn't even bloody kill a human, you expect a supernatural being to get killed by having its heel sliced off?" Spike asked, kicking his demon in the head and then punching it in a series of quick hits to its nose.

"Being sliced in the stomach kills humans," Buffy remarked, putting a hook to the chin of her assailant. "So why not bellybuttons?"

"Can we not have this sodding conversation during the battle?"

"Can't concentrate?"

"Can't bloody remember where to put my blade!" he growled, swinging the axe and chopping the demon's head off. "Then again," the vampire added.

Buffy sunk the sword into the stomach of her demon. It staggered backwards and landed on the ground facing the stars, but didn't stop trying to pull the sword out and she walked up to it, eyebrows raised as she looked down at it.

"Well," she said, grabbing the handle and pulling the weapon out again. "That didn't work," she shrugged, bringing the blade down hard and having it run through the demon's neck easy as pie.

The demon stopped moving.

"I know what you're feeling," Spike said and she turned to look at him.

This was new.

"Right now," he continued. "The adrenaline pumping. How is it different from the rush I feel?"

"It's not the same," she gritted out.

"Why? I kill your kind, you kill mine."

"Your kind doesn't have a soul."

He smiled a little.

"Really?" he asked. "And what does that mean?"

"You want me to tell you what it means?"

"Yes."

"It means you can't feel. Anything."

"Mh. That Watcher git drill that into you?"

"There was no drilling needed, I get to see it, everyday."

"You get to see demons attacking you. You think every demon is without a soul 'cause you bleeding well stomp into their hard earned territory and claim it for the human kind? Bloody hell, what you don't seem to understand is most demons in Sunnydale aren't there to be a pain up your cute behind, they're there to live, to make a living, to bloody retire, even. There's a reason the Hellmouth is so attractive to demons, sure, but it bloody well doesn't mean they're all evil."

"I've yet to meet a good-natured one," she pointed out.

"Have you tried putting your stake away for five seconds?"

"I'd do that, but I'm afraid I'd end up with it sticking out between my shoulder blades."

"See, that's your problem. No trust. No letting go."

"I have plenty of letting go," she said and he smirked.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Don't hold your breath," she huffed, walking past him and pushing open the door taking them into her bedroom.

She halted, considering where she was, then shrugged it off and continued up to her bed. She sat down on it and he followed her, standing by her window. He was more offended by her actually thinking this way than he wanted to lead on. Who the hell did she think she was, passing out judgment in this sodding manner? He turned to her.

"I know I shouldn't be surprised," he said, "but this is bloody rich, even for you."

"We're not exactly on friendly terms even on a good day, so I don't really get why..."

"Not _that_. This demon-only-bad-chop-to-bleeding-bits thing."

"It's not a thing," she said. "And ew. And it's a conviction. The deeply rooted kind."

"Formed through years of experience and observing and careful consideration of what complex a society the demon world actually is, yeah?"

She shifted a little in her seat, slight pout appearing on her mouth as she frowned.

"Yeah," she then confirmed, though it wasn't as self-assured as she would've wanted.

"You've realized not all demons are hatched from eggs or a bite to the neck," Spike continued mercilessly. "You've understood that there are hierarchies, certain rules not even the lowest demon will break, that there's ordered chaos which surrounds you everyday. That there's a reason certain demonic species never cross each others path. That there are families, lovers, feelings in motion rather similar to the human condition. All this you've discovered through all those years of analyzing the world around you. The two realities you live in. You've compared them and come to the conclusion that the one you were actually born into is the superior one because you... what?"

Her frown deepened.

She didn't want to hear this. She didn't want to think about it. It was ridiculous. More than that, it was stupid.

"This is so stupid," she grumbled and she absolutely detested the smirk appearing on his mouth.

"Sometimes I forget," he said. She gave him a look and his smirk turned into a smile as he came up to her, proceeding passed her to her nightstand, beginning to look at the things she kept there. "How young you are," he finished his thought, almost as in passing, but the aggravation which flared up in her made her rise and walk in his footsteps, taking the book he held in his hands.

Then she paused, staring at it before looking back at him.

"How did you...?" she began and he took a step back.

He obviously didn't want to look guilty, because the expression only lasted about one second, but she could see the busted written across his forehead for part of that second as clearly as though it had been burned into his skin and she didn't know if she was disgusted or staggered or infuriated or all at once, but she finally added to her former sentence with:

"How did you know this was there?"

"I've seen it."

"You've seen it? When? When have you been in my room?"

He clenched his jaws together. His thoughts racing for the proper answer.

"That night."

"That night?"

"With Riley. With the blood-sucking and the... waking you..."

He trailed off at the look on her face and then she turned around and put the diary back in the nightstand drawer, slamming it shut and not turning back around, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

"I never keep it in plain sight," she murmured. "Dawn... could find it. I never leave it out..."

She wondered what was happening. What was this place, really? Who was he? Why was he?

Then she swirled around, took the step parting them and delivered a hard blow right to his chin, making him stumble backwards and into her closet door. He looked quite astonished. She thoroughly liked that expression on him.

"You've been in here when I wasn't here!" she exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind? Trying to find new ways of creeping into my life, of destroying it, of getting rid of me! What sort of perverted, twisted, weird kind of a low-life scum-bag are you!"

"Didn't you just define me?"

She drew her arm back again and he put his hands up.

"Buffy," he said. "Just..."

"There's no just with you!" she yelled. "You've _read_ my diary! Have you!"

"No!" he exclaimed. "I may have peeked..."

She shoved him harshly back as he started to straighten himself up.

"And you can stand there and try to moralize the demon society I've had to deal with since I was fifteen! How the hell dare you talk to me like I don't know exactly why they even needed a Slayer in the first place? You're a murderous, lying, callous, demolishing breed that care about nothing and no one but yourselves, so don't preach right and wrong to me. You try and draw the line, but you keep crossing it, don't you, and soon there's no space left to etch it on and you'll have gone way too far and not even that chip in your head can keep you safe from meeting a very dusty ending!"

The rage in her eyes made their green fierce and bold and he felt as though he was crumbling. As though he was a nothing about to finally be filled up or completely blown apart.

He knew he could never make her see him the way he wished to be seen. He knew she would never understand him, or take him for anything but the monster he had willingly been turned into. And she would never believe him if he told her what she had forced into his heart, what life had spurred in mockery and defiance, what edge she had put his entire existence on and how, now, all he could do was watch it slowly turn to shreds.

He tried standing up again and this time she let him.

He straightened out his duster, meeting her gaze.

Then a soft wind grabbed a few of her locks, toying with them gently and she blinked. She looked down and saw white sand blowing carefully around her feet, beginning to collect on the floor and quickly making a carpet for it, a blanket for the bed, covering the room in delicate curves, obliterating any sharpness.

"Great," she sighed, her eyes not leaving his as she observed him with intensity, which only came from a newfound distrust for what his next move might be. "What now?"

He glanced around, the backdrop of the room falling away with every new grain of sand and they found themselves in the middle of a vast desert.

Yes, he thought. What now?


	3. Sifting Through

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Sifting Through¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

She furrowed her brow. What was this place? The wind had ceased. All was quiet and still. The air was strange, neither hot nor cold. She looked up and rested her gaze on a night sky. It was the biggest sky she had ever seen. And everywhere around her were the stretching dunes of the desert, their cleanliness somehow a mockery. He was farther away than he had been before, ten yards separated them, and she felt like it wasn't enough. She was still upset, though her indignation and anger at his disclosed actions had calmed somewhat. She could do nothing about it in here, as it was.

A light was spreading at the horizon situated behind him. It quickly worked to pale away the stars, the black turning marine and azure and white to begin to reveal yellow and pink and very slowly the gold which was the center of the change. Buffy's eyes widened slightly, but she then reminded herself that it wasn't a real sunrise.

She observed Spike, who looked terribly confounded, staring at the space surrounding him.

And then she noticed something in the sand a few feet away from her. It was half covered, but in the growing light she could still clearly make it out. She took a step toward it, and then stopped herself, unsure of what to make of it, what she thought of it. She turned her gaze on Spike again, but he had seen what had caught her attention, and now he was observing it with a slight frown on.

"It's a cross," she said, startled at how loud her voice sounded as it broke the quiet.

His eyes met hers.

"Yes," he nodded. "This is where I keep them."

She looked wondering, because she felt wondering.

"Who?" she asked, just as the glowing orb glanced over the ridge some distance away and its rays spread their heat down on them.

It didn't affect her, or him, in any way; she only perceived it was there. But then there was the change which overcame the sand. Within the blink of an eye it turned into the smoothest glass, glittering beneath her feet. It was an extraordinary sight, beautiful to an extent which was almost difficult to grasp. Only her awe turned to clawing horror as her gaze met those of someone dead. Trapped beneath the surface of the glass. Staring at her.

She took a step back, and then another and another as she realized the entire desert was full of bodies and that she had been granted some twisted peepshow of what graveyard was hidden beneath the tranquility and cautious splendor.

"Oh, God," she said, looking up and meeting his gaze again.

He was watching her closely. She felt herself grow nauseous. These were all the people he had killed. All of them. So many. Tears pricked her eyes. Was this how many people died even though there was a Slayer in the world? How did good outweigh evil when there was so much of it?

He looked very serious now, his gaze stubbornly in hers.

"Look at them."

The words were a mere suffocated hiss in her throat because her jaws were so tightly clenched together, but she could see that he had heard them. His eyes widened just a tad, but other than that there was no reaction. No reply.

"Look at them," she repeated, her voice coarse as she raised it.

"Why?"

"Look at them."

He made no response this time, and for a moment she thought she wouldn't be able to muster any more energy than what had been spent in speaking the words with such force, but then she was suddenly stalking up to him, finding herself confronting him with a new surge of rage swirling through her.

"_Look_ at them!"

"I tried to make this place... serene. Tried to make it peaceful. I needed a spot to bury them."

"Damn you!" she exclaimed, slapping him, for a second time, though this time there was even more power behind it.

His head turned to the side from the blow and he slowly moved it to observe her with mounting intrigue. She didn't understand why it was there. All she could feel was disgust; was shock at standing right upon the facts of life she was trying to fight every day. She was struggling to keep bodies from being buried, to keep people from dying in vain, and below her lay what felt like undisputable proof that it didn't matter. That the fight was pointless. That death was inevitable, a part of life, not to be overlooked, outwitted or beaten back.

"Jesus!" she almost yelled, giving him a harsh push. "What're you doing to me?"

She put her hands at her forehead, raking her fingers through her hair as she walked past him.

She couldn't stay in there anymore, he was poisoning her, she had no other explanation for the emotions moving through her. The doubt. It was so unfamiliar to her. It scared her. She loathed him for putting it there.

"Look at them," she said, almost matter-of-factly.

He couldn't. He wouldn't. The thought of looking down to see what was under his feet was as foreign as reaching out a hand and plucking one of the veiled stars above their heads. He wasn't going to force the bend of his neck, and he knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it.

"Why?" he simply repeated.

She didn't have an answer to that question. She just needed him to. He had to acknowledge them. She didn't say anything, just hoped he could read her intentions in her eyes.

"I don't want to," he murmured. "Let the dead rest where they may, and the living be as they are."

"You're neither dead nor living," she pointed out. "Where do you fit in?"

"As the only one with a choice."

"Of what?"

"Of when to let go. I let the past go as soon as it happens."

She watched him for a long moment.

"I don't believe you," she shook her head.

"Believe it."

"Then why are the faces of those you've killed still here, lingering in the back of your head?"

"Careful, Slayer," he warned. "Soon you'll accuse me of having a conscience and where would that leave us? Where would it lead?"

She felt herself hesitate.

In that short second he suddenly grabbed her left wrist as the whole world pulled itself out from under them, turning itself on its head so that they began to fall into the sky. He reached up his free hand and grabbed a rope which came falling down from above, holding onto Buffy as they came to a jerky stop, the rope stretching with a slight squeak.

The sun was gone and now there was nothing but chilled darkness where she dangled with the threat of falling forever into it. She looked up at him. Would the chip stop him from hurting her? From dropping her? Was he free to make the choice? Neither Willow nor Giles had been able to answer those very important and basic queries before sending her off on this mission. She was beginning to regret not promptly opting for a slight stalling, in case the answers could have come up presently. Then again, they still have had no choice. And he had the knowledge of being dust the second they understood what had happened to her, hanging over his head like a brightly colored warning flag.

"Spike," she mumbled as she felt his grip slip.

"Take hold with your other hand," he said. "Pull yourself up."

"Why can't you think us out of this mess?"

"I don't know," he replied, his eyes entreating her to simply do as he instructed.

"Maybe you don't want to," she muttered as she moved her arm up and he loosened his grip slightly, making her give a yell and grab onto him quicker.

"Should we try that theory?"

She glared at him, beginning to pull herself up and finally being able to put an arm around his shoulders, holding onto his neck as they came face to face, the tip of her nose brushing his as she turned her head to look at him.

Had his heart had a beat it would be doing the thud, but it didn't, and he looked the part, trying not to press her closer to him. She was warmer than he had imagined her, and her heat transferred itself through the fabric of his clothes, stroking his skin invitingly.

He swallowed.

"This is worse than I thought," she grumbled.

"I feel the same way," he agreed nonchalantly.

"I really think you don't."

"Oh, that's right, silly me, I can't feel anything."

She chose to disregard the slight irony in his tone and grabbed the rope, detaching herself from him as she began to climb up.

"It's funny," he continued as he followed her. "I had you pegged as a hardheaded, hardhearted bitch the first time I laid eyes on you, figured I'd have me some fun knocking you around, since you seemed in such dire need of it; but I never thought of you as a bigot."

She stopped climbing, looking down at him with her aggravation sharp in her eyes.

"How am I a bigot?"

"You seem to believe you're the professor of good, and that you bloody well know right from wrong as though one was your left hand and the other one your right, and this is why it's such news to you that the world is a sodding muddle, and that right and wrong is only parted by a very thin line. What's right in your eyes is infinitely wrong in mine, for example."

"Right. Helping, supporting, saving – these are all concepts you're completely unfamiliar with," she nodded, beginning the ascent once more.

It wasn't far now. There was a hole in the black through which the rope hung, and she knew, if she could only reach that, she would be able to manhandle him all she wanted, and she didn't care where the hell they were; he deserved a good, clean thrashing.

"I'm not talking 'bout the stuff you do for others," he now said. "Sure, killing off my kin might not be on the top of my very-good-deeds list."

"You have a list?"

He ignored her sarcasm, proceeding with:

"What I _mean_ is what you do to yourself."

She had reached the hole, which was square shaped, and when she put out a hand her fingers told her eagerly that the surface was hard. She didn't wait, merely heaved herself onto the ledge and felt further inside. It was a floor. She scooted away from the hole and stood, turning in anticipation for him to join her. She would enjoy this. She always enjoyed reminding him how easy it would be for her to kill him.

"What do I do to myself?" she finally sighed when there was no sight of him.

Suddenly she was spun around, his hand pushing her back against a darkened wall. She drew a breath with surprise and then he stepped close, glaring at her.

"I can hear you," he murmured, brushing his free hand over her forehead and she realized her imagination had been tapped into and that he had pounced on her without there being one inclination of pain on his face, which meant the chip was all but working, and that she was in trouble.

She detested the swirl of fear which rose at the look in his eyes, enraged they stared at her, revolted and somehow disbelieving. Then he took a step back, away from her.

"Alright," he murmured, the blue in his eyes glittering with the challenge rising in them. "Remind me how easy it'd be."

For a moment she was utterly stumped. He wanted to fight? But then the duster slid off his shoulders and he threw it aside and she knew he was nothing if not serious. He wanted to fight.

"We can't do it in _here_," she protested, despite the thoughts which had, not many minutes ago, circled around her brain.

"Seems like the only place we can," he replied.

"We don't know what could happen if something... happened."

"Think you'll be able to kill me, love?"

Her expression changed rapidly as she shook her locks to fall behind her shoulders, meeting his gaze steadily.

"I _know_ I will be."

Soft amusement shaded his eyes and she felt the warrior within her rouse itself at the sight of it. If it was one thing she couldn't stand about that vampire, it was the cockiness he carried with him like a constant companion, it followed his every move, was there in every word. It was time she put an end to it.

The air was reverberating with their readying themselves for the battle prominent. She hadn't fought him in a long time, but she was sure she'd remember most of his moves. As she recalled they had been basic and uninventive.

A low growl rose out of his throat and she smiled sweetly.

Basic and uninventive, she thought again. Basic, uninventive and a complete bore. This shouldn't take long.

He took a step forward at that, swinging an arm out in an attempt to punch her across the jaw, only she blocked it with an arm of her own, her eyes in his with a slight triumph in them that she had been able to push him into making the first move. He gnawed his teeth, his free hand grabbing her throat and there was a flicker before her eyes as her hand grabbed his wrist.

She thought quickly and began to bring a knee towards his groin, forcing him to kick it away which enabled her to twist around and out of his grip, her back to his chest. Before she could step away from him, however, he pressed her forward, pushing her three steps and harshly up against a wall. His hips grinding his crotch against her ass and she drew an outraged breath, putting her hands against the wall and pushing away as harshly as he had gotten her there, jumping up and placing her feet against it, kicking away to further the momentum and he tumbled onto his back while she did a somersault and landed on both feet by his head, her face leaning down close to his.

"Uninventive?" he asked with a slight smirk and she punched him in the nose, her second hit connecting with the floor as he rolled to the side and got to his feet.

She straightened up as well, not hesitating before she kicked up a leg. Both his hands took the blow, driving her leg back down before he took the step separating them and delivered a hook to her chin which sent her stumbling to the side, turning her head to him just in time to have it take another hit. The third one was met by her palm and she counterstriked with her free hand in a fist to his cheek. He barely flinched, linking his fingers with the hand of hers which was still against his before grabbing her upper arm with his other and backing her up against another wall.

"You have no idea who I am," he murmured, her heart beginning to hammer strangely within her as his gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips to her neck.

"I know exactly what you are," she retorted, jerking to get loose, but to no gain since his lock tightened considerably.

His eyes were in hers again.

"Do you?" he asked silently.

Yes, she wanted to yell at him, but something stayed her, something in his look. Something deeper than she could reach. Something unrecognizable. Something unfathomably new. She shied away from it, shrunk back. He seemed to bring himself out of it, and she felt relief as his eyes wore their ordinary blue instead of this undefined. Where was his demon? She wanted to see it.

She tore the hand linked with his out of his hold, punching him on the nose again and then again and finally he growled, the demon breaking through in its fury. But he caught her arm just as she thought she was about to break free completely and she had to content herself with another greeting of the wall, glaring at him. He glared back. Yellow having drained away blue.

"Let me tell you what I know about you," he nearly growled. "You try so bleeding hard to set an example for your sis, for your friends, show that Watcher poof how good a leader you are, make him proud, make him sure you know what's what, that you've forgotten about all the rest."

"The rest?"

She tried to get loose again, but he'd have none of it.

"The rest. That's why you drove the Cardboard Cutout away; that's why you can't sleep at night; that's why you feel half the time like you're on another sodding planet from the others. You hold back, every single day. Don't you? You wonder about that other half of you. The one that wants the kill, gets high on feeling that wood in your hand, polished, pointed, just waiting." Her blood was loud in her ears, but all she could hear was his words. She had never before abhorred him in the way she did right then, with his eyes boring into her, his mouth filling her with incomprehensible longing. "The darker side of you feels neglected, Slayer. 'S about time you let it come out to play."

"Stop it," she hissed, her irritation combining with her repugnance and enabling her to get him away from her.

He smiled slightly.

"You can't tell me you haven't thought about it. And you sure as hell can't tell me anything that'll make me believe that what really drives that stake isn't the killer in you. We all have it. A child has it."

"Don't compare us like there's any comparison," she gritted out.

"No, I know you don't like that," he agreed. "But it's in both our nature. You kill for salvation, I kill for survival."

"There's no salvation in death," she bit back. "Don't think I think that. And there's nothing similar about our situations. I was born into this, you chose it."

He considered that for but a moment, eyeing her before he replied:

"No. There was no choice."

She furrowed her brow; then grew disbelieving.

"You can't make me believe Drusilla bit you against your will."

"Doesn't mean there was any sort of choice involved. Rather that than..."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Than what?"

"I feed because I have to," he changed direction, and successfully so because she said:

"You don't feed anymore, but if you did, would you actually stand there and say to my face that you don't feed for the taste of it? For the feel of biting through flesh? For the... for the seduction?"

It was his turn to frown.

"You been bit, love?"

She swallowed, happy that her blonde locks effectively concealed the four puncture wounds to the right of her throat.

"What I'm saying is, is that you kill just to kill something. Like with the demons! There you go out bashing heads together for the bashings sake."

"And you don't do that?"

She stared at him.

"No!"

He smirked, though it settled mostly in his gaze and she clenched her fists together.

"You've never gotten rid of stress by... kicking a vampire around?"

"No," she repeated. "And stop turning it around on me."

"Are you bloody complaining of my helping to keep down the demon count?"

"Yeah, and what about that, you saying they're not all bad..."

"I don't kill _all_ of them!"

"Neither do I!"

"And you think I wouldn't give it up in a second? That I couldn't? 'Cause I could."

She blinked, her face turning quizzical.

"Why would you give it up?"

He was taken aback for a moment, but then he put on an expression which mirrored hers and simply said:

"Hmh?"

She watched him, but decided to drop it.

"Was that all the fighting we're gonna do?"

"Ah, feel like kicking me around?"

She opened her mouth to reply, then changed her mind and closed it again, merely giving him a look.

"Honey, we've only just started," he replied.

They observed each other for a few seconds, and then Buffy kicked up one leg, he blocked it and she ducked as he aimed to kick her in the side, hitting him on the inside of his thigh before straightening up. That punch had been painful, she could see it on his face. She felt a wave of simple satisfaction race through her and then she attacked him with all the ferocity of what she wanted him to get – that there was no link between their fates, that the cosmos had no greater plan for their intermingling than their occasional fist-to-face.

Which was how they were communicating now. Her blows being met by blows, his kicks being met by kicks. They moved around the still darkened space they had been granted, twisting and ducking, jabbing and thrusting all their energy into this one meeting, trusting it to determine its own outcome.

The vampire was filled with purpose, with the need to see this through once and for all. He grabbed onto all the hatred, all the discontent, all the crippling, strangling emotions brought forth by the chip embedded in his skull, and blamed it all on her. All of it. And he was going to kill her.

She could see it in his eyes. The fire, which had been lost for some time, had been rekindled. She couldn't remember when it had faltered in illuminating those black thoughts he seemed to save for her and her alone, but now they showed, somehow even clearer than before. His blows were of awesome character when they pounded into her skin. She felt the injuries they produced, the bruises. She knew he was under the same affliction from her, and yet she felt his vigor somehow different. Larger. Expanded. Engulfing him. She only faltered for one second, and in that second lay his hands grabbing her wrists, wringing her arms behind her back, their chests connecting as he practically stumbled them up against a wall.

She was breathing hard, the back of her head aching as she had bumped it when they connected with their current support. He weighed against her, his face hovering just slightly above hers. She tried to keep her cool, but her body was overheated from the battle, from the exhilaration of the uncertainty, from this outcome. She couldn't calm herself. Her heart was a wild beast, roaring at her, but she wasn't convinced of what it was roaring for. For fear? For indignation? For more?

He had never touched her.

It was a thought which entered her mind as though a caged bird flitting free of its cage.

He had never touched her.

No, not like this, not with weight and scent and adrenaline coloring the air around them violet. Not with this tight a hold, not with this much conviction he had won. She looked up at him. His demon had retracted. She hadn't expected that.

He wanted to know what he was doing with this creature set on a calling to end his race. What was he doing loving her?

He looked into those eyes, which bore such defiance, such ability to crush and curse with her mouth having nothing to do with it. They were never soft, always hard, when looking at him. As though glazed over by her despising him. If he could get through that surface... Make her see. Make her understand. But she couldn't be made to do anything. She believed in choices, even though her destiny was none of her own invention, and all he could ever do was wait for her to change her mind.

She didn't know what was going on. What the expression he bore was supposed to mean. She couldn't tell.

Then his hold loosened.

He let her go, taking a few steps back and reaching down to pick up his duster.

"Should probably get going," he muttered, pulling the piece of leather on. "Got work to do, yeah?"

She watched him as he began to walk through the shadows, disappearing from view.

"Yeah," she then murmured, following.

This mystery was only evolving itself into new and more elaborate folds. She didn't know where to turn, or what she wanted. She knew this intrigue would fade, but at the moment it was only strengthening. He kept saying things and doing things that were so out of character, and it confused her. And somewhere she felt she would come across that one fold to unfold them all. A key, shiny and simple, that would allow her to access him.

She shuddered. What a frightening idea.

She remembered the glass desert, all those faces. She didn't want to know him, she concluded. They would search for the clue they needed, and that was it. She honestly didn't even want to contemplate what other concealed parts to him she might find if she would manage the retrieval of that key.


	4. Seeking Reverence

Lovely to hear from you guys! So Very Happy! Thank you!

Terra (hello there! Oh, I'm more than happy to respond, I mean, that's half the fun! And I wouldn't be posting without you guys! You always make my day! Very grateful for your words! It's more than great to read that I'm doing my job right – because you never know, you know:) Thank you!) :), kim (oohh, harsh words, but I do agree. Especially in season five. Jeez, could they have painted her as more of a bitch. Then again, can't forget who Spike actually is. I mean, he doesn't exactly have the cleanest track record. But she's so infuriating! Anyways. Thanks for the review!) :),

Ari (hi, and wow, dunno if you completely missed what I'm trying to say or if it's my fault it's so unclear to you. The whole thing with Spike and the feeding, Buffy brought the truth of it out when she practically admitted she'd been bit herself. Speaking of the seduction. Now Buffy's very cold to Spike, you have to admit that. Even when he saves her life she just shrugs her shoulders in season five. And the blind part, well, very, very true that she has huge reasons not to see him as anything but a vampire, but he tries to help and do things the right way when he realizes he's in love with her. Seems to me he's the one not able to catch a break. The first part of your review is a little blurry to me, though. What'd you mean by the "I swear if Buffy's not licking Spike's boots, chanting 'You can done wrong'"? Just curious. Alright, to wrap up, I hope you like the next chapter better – if you're returning for it.) :)

Starhawk (darrling, thank you very much! It's sort of a relief to read it!) ;), Lou (aw, that's very nice of you. Very nice indeed. Thank you! Pray the rest is up to taste!) ;)

To all – I do, really do, hope you will enjoy!

A.M.L – Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Seeking Reverence¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

The floor turned into the soft ground of a forest and through the dark she could see trees beginning to surround them. Farther up ahead something white was showing between the trunks. Cold hit them and Buffy put her arms around herself just as they stepped beyond the edge of the forest and lighted upon a stretching meadow, heaved in deep snow, which still fell from an equally white sky. Thick, soft flakes looking as though an invisible thread was dangling them playfully, gently helping them make their way to join their kin.

"William!" a voice rang through the stillness.

Spike looked up, and she noted the stricken appearance he wore. He narrowed his eyes, searching the view before them. Then they widened slightly.

His heart surged at the sight of the small girl running through the deep snow toward a large greenhouse, standing proudly in the south-east corner of the meadow and having collected a fair amount of snow and frost on its thick panes.

"William!" the girl repeated, giggling as she reached the door of the greenhouse, pushing it open and slipping inside.

"Sarah," Spike mumbled.

The greenhouse surrounded them in the next instant. Its warmth encircling them. The heavy scent of fresh dirt and the sweetness of flowers intermingled in the air and Buffy drew a slight breath.

"Spike," she said, making him look at her. "We don't have time."

He was only half-listening. The memories of his childhood were few and far between, but he did remember this as though it had happened yesterday, and with it came so many more that had been kept out of reach for a lifetime. He embraced them.

The laughter of children reached Buffy's ears and she was brought out of the urge to leave, to make him see that they had to keep moving; her brow furrowing a little before she took a few steps to the side, peeking around a large plant and spotting the little girl, sitting on the floor. Next to her was a small boy. They didn't look older than six.

Buffy stared at the boy. There was no way she could not. He was so small. There was no question about it being William. Suddenly he looked up and for a few seconds his gaze rested in hers. His eyes big, blue, innocent. Then he smiled a little, going back to what he was doing with his friend. Sarah.

Spike came up to stand behind Buffy.

"How old were you?" she asked.

"Five," he replied.

"Who's Sarah?"

But he didn't answer. He took a step past her and slowly approached the playing children. She observed him as he rounded them, his face angling so she could see it. He had never worn that expression before; the silent, undiluted pain which was so perfectly stroked into every line of his features. He kneeled behind the image of himself, but his eyes were fixed on the companion.

"Why do you always come here?" she now asked the boy, who smiled again, pushing the wooden toy-truck towards a small pile of dirt. "You'll get in trouble if mama finds you."

"You think so?" he asked, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

Buffy drew a short, involuntary breath; clenching her jaws together as she grew aware of actually reacting to that small gesture.

Sarah giggled.

"_I_ am not allowed to play in here. I do not think she would want you to be."

"But she is with my mother."

"Yes," Sarah acknowledged hesitantly. "She is fitting her for an evening gown, I believe. When she is finished, it is my turn."

"Are you to have a dress?"

"I am. Green of color."

"You sound displeased."

"I wished more than anything for a red."

"Green is very pretty, too."

"You mean that truly? Then I shall agree with you and be happy to have it."

He smiled. She returned it.

The scenery changed ever so slightly, but the children grew older in the blink of an eye and Buffy knew that they were seven. Sarah was standing, looking down at what William was drawing.

"Is it a horse?" she asked. He shook his head. "A dog? A cat? It is certainly something with four legs. Oh, do tell me what it is, Will, it is quite lovely, whatever it is."

"I don't know what it is," he shrugged. "I dreamed it last night and wished to show it to you."

"It has wings!" she exclaimed, coming around to sit down beside him on the wooden floor. "It looks like a unicorn, except for the hooves."

"What shall we name her?"

"Florentine," Sarah replied instantly, a big smile on her mouth. "Florentine Nightingale."

"Perfectly fitting," he nodded.

Buffy smiled a little; her gaze suddenly meeting Spike's where he was still kneeling. She swallowed; her smile fading. She didn't like that she had to remind herself where she was. It seemed his thoughts too easily took hold of hers and that it was becoming increasingly easy for him the longer time she spent there. And then there was something else to deal with. Subtle curiosity.

Why would this hurt him? Why did he look as though every moment was building toward something disastrous?

Every moment's building toward something disastrous, she thought to herself, only her thought echoed between the walls of the greenhouse and Spike's gaze grew even more intense.

The children hadn't heard; they simply kept on with their chatter.

"And beautiful," Spike mumbled, eyes going back to his younger self.

The scenery changed softly again, a few flowers changing place, a few being replaced or suddenly blooming, but other than that, time seemed to stand still. The children aged once more. And again Buffy had a number in her head which seemed to coincide with how old they looked – ten.

"Why do you always come here?" Sarah smiled.

She was standing again, while he was seated cross legged on the floor. He put down the pen which had been hovering over an already scribbled on piece of paper.

"Because nobody's watching me," he answered her.

"The flowers are."

"No," he laughed. "They only listen," he added and the girl giggled.

"Oh, Miss Rose," she said, getting to her feet and twirling over to a rose-bush, curtseying delightfully before it and then burying her nose in the sweet-smelling petals of one of the buds. "You do have the prettiest frock. I wish I was as pink and fragrant as you."

"But you are," the boy stated, getting to his feet. "I thought you had awaited the party for weeks. Or so your brother told me."

"I have," she shrugged. "But now it is nothing but old ladies and older gentlemen talking of dreadfully dreary things. I was bored. But you had already disappeared."

He smiled again, a little uncertain suddenly.

"I did not mean to remove you from your party," he mumbled. "Your father will be upset with me."

"Not at all, since you were not the culprit. I was, in removing myself."

"For my benefit."

"Aye? I should say it was entirely for my own."

"If I had stayed..."

"I would have lured you out of there with tricks and remarks of this place and its splendor, and you would have followed me without a second thought. So, you see, the fault rests with me, for better or worse."

Then they were suddenly gone and the room lay empty before Buffy's eyes. The light had dimmed and she knew dusk was setting in. She furrowed her brow and then William came walking into view.

Sixteen.

He was sixteen, dressed very properly, and was holding a book and a pencil.

The vampire version of this young man slowly stood. Buffy noted the movement, but her eyes were transfixed on the other figure.

He had no idea what he was to become.

He was the complete opposite to what Spike was.

For a moment she wondered why the demon had gotten its clutches into this innocent human being. Why such evil had to even exist. What circumstance could possibly have made this bright man choose the bite? And then she recalled Spike's words of there having been no choice. Her curiosity flared and she brought it down again, wishing she could vanquish it, but realizing it was far too late for that now.

William lighted a candle, opened the notebook and sat down on the floor, leaning back against a heavy flower pot and beginning to write.

"In dusk so fair, I stroke his hair, I wish for naught, but what I ought."

At Sarah's soft voice a smile spread on his mouth, but he didn't look up, and the pen didn't stop moving.

The girl came into view, her dress was longer this time; the girlishness of her figure had reposed in the light of budding womanhood. She was exceptionally beautiful, with big cornflower blue eyes and blonde locks tied with a ribbon. She peeked around the plant by which William sat; a small smile on her lips as well. Then she reached out a hand and gently slipped her fingers over his hair, making his eyebrows rise as he turned his head to her, but she dove out of sight.

"In friends we find, what cleanses mind, and leaves in mirth, what gives rebirth. For friends we are, aren't we, William?"

She stepped forward and he observed her for a moment, puzzled.

"Yes," he said, looking wondering.

"I am to be sent away," she stated, and Buffy could tell how hard she was suddenly fighting her tears.

"Sent away? Where?"

"I am to go to a convent."

"A convent?" he repeated, stupefied.

"Yes. For worship. In wait of my wedding day."

"You... are to be married?"

"Yes."

"But you're still much too young..."

"I said 'in wait'."

"And to whom are you supposed to be betrothed?"

"I do not know, William. Did you think I would stay this way forever? That _we_ would? My father will most certainly arrange what he thinks best for me."

"You mean, for himself."

"Will!"

He was growing angrier by the second, getting to his feet.

"You cannot stand there and tell me this is what _you_ want."

She straightened her posture, obviously about to do just that, when the tears ran over, her lower lip trembling with held back emotion. The words strayed from her lips and she merely gave a small whimper.

William looked completely lost at this turn of events.

"Sarah," he murmured. "Please, don't let him decide your fate this way."

"What choice do I have? If you give me one, I shall make it my own."

He stared at her. He had nothing to reply to that.

"Sarah!" a man's voice rang through the greenhouse and then an older gentleman dressed in evening attire and a long black cape entered Buffy's line of sight, his eyes landing on the teenagers and a flash of anger entering them. "I should have known," he stated, coming up to them and grabbing Sarah by her wrist with a glare at William.

"Father," Sarah said, smiling a strained smile. "You have no cause for..."

"Hush!" he exclaimed. "Young Kingsley here seems to always forget his place, doesn't he? I feel it is time I told him exactly where he belongs."

"Father!" Sarah breathed, clearly abhorred, her smile turning into a frown as she began to struggle against his hold.

Her father didn't seem to hear her as he took a step closer to William.

"If your mother had not been who she is you would all be in the _gutter_! Being as things are she has saved you, God knows your father does nothing for his family. There is none to gain for you here, Kingsley. And my daughter is simply too far out of your reach."

"You're wrong, sir," William murmured. "My father does a great deal more for his family than you ever have yours. And Sarah will never be too far out of my reach." His eyes went to his friend's and she calmed slightly. "You see, with all due respect, sir, I love her dearly, thus she cannot be far from my heart, can she?"

Sarah stared at him, a small smile growing into the corners of her mouth.

"Indeed!" her father huffed, tearing her with him as he headed for the exit.

Buffy felt herself almost move forward to stop him, but she couldn't get her feet to take the steps needed, and had to simply watch as William stood still, looking the way Sarah had disappeared. Spike was standing facing the younger him, observing his own expression, a deep frown on.

"Why did you do that?" he murmured.

Then Sarah came running back, her image going straight through the vampire's before she threw her arms around William in a tight hug. She pulled back and kissed him tenderly on the mouth, granting him a glorious smile before she turned around and ran out again.

Buffy felt her jaw drop slightly, her heart beat stilling considerably at the privacy of such a moment.

William stood with his back to her, and in front of him stood Spike in the same fashion, both of them now intent on the exit which had swallowed Sarah.

"I never saw her again," Spike's voice rang through the stillness. "Not like this, anyway. I saw her from afar, but... They kept me away. Kept her away from me. Did a good job of it." He grew quiet. "I lost her," he then said, complete defeat in his voice.

She furrowed her brow.

Oh, please, she wanted to say. Oh, _please_!

But she didn't. Something steadied her, held her back. Perhaps the shoulders of William, which were rigid. Perhaps the tears she simply knew were falling down his cheeks.

"Why did I do that?" Spike murmured softly.

The scenery spun around them into the Bronze, and the difference between the past and the present tore the Slayer out of whatever introverted state she had slipped into. The music came blasting from the speakers, the people moving with the beat almost furiously. He was at the edge of the dance floor, back still to her. She was right under the stairs, leaning back against them slightly, watching the crowd.

He turned around, swinging a beer to his lips and sauntering her way, not having noticed her quite yet. Yes, she remembered this night, too. She was keeping an eye out for yet another demon, which had reportedly come to town, and she had been in no mood for a smash-and-bash with the bleach head. However...

He stopped at the sight of her, his stance ever watchful as his gaze turned annoyed.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled, continuing where he had been headed, walking past her and muttering: "Could go a night without seeing you, Slayer."

"Sorry," she said, eyes still on the dance floor, "you're on my turf."

He paused by her at that, leaning against the stairs right next to her.

"That what you think?"

"Thought had entered my mind, yeah."

"Sunnydale was never your turf, Slayer. The Hellmouth can never be your turf. Haven't you gotten that through your thick skull yet?"

"You're drunk."

"Don't bloody say that if you're not gonna say it to my face!"

She turned her head to him, catching his gaze and holding it.

"You're drunk," she repeated.

"Oh, _well_! I am _not_ drunk. I'm slightly intoxicated, but I'm not..."

"Alright, don't fall over," she said and he raised his eyebrows with a quizzical expression in his eyes right before she put one hand against his chest and gave him a shove.

It was pretty hard, she admitted that, but it wouldn't have sent him tumbling into the wall behind him the way that he did if he had been sober enough to keep his balance.

"You fell over," she said as he struggled to his feet with an enraged snarl.

She turned her eyes back on the dance floor.

"I wonder why he wanted us."

She huffed, knowing that the actual Spike had taken over and that the memory had been interrupted by his musings.

"There is no 'us'," she replied, glancing at him where he had reclaimed the spot at her side.

"Did you have to push me so sodding hard?" he muttered, rubbing his chest a little and she smirked.

"Just proving how I'm always right and you're always wrong."

He cocked an eyebrow at that.

"Really?"

He truly wanted to make her eat those words, but he hadn't anticipated just how twisted his mind worked. In the next moment the heavy rock music was glazed over, turning into the notes of a classical violin.

"Pardon me," he heard himself say and when he turned his head to the side he felt his insides churn with displeasure.

He remembered this party well.

And the night.

He was hours away from Drusilla's cool clutches.

"I am searching for a replacement word as the one I have is rather hard to match with a rhyme," his other self continued to a much too baffled Slayer.

And it wasn't that she had a hard time processing the fact that William probably wouldn't have looked the way Spike did when he came clambering into her life. Bleach wasn't big in the nineteenth century England, she did know this. But she never would have thought. With the brown hair and with the glasses and what had he said? Jeez, he was actually nothing less than the poster boy for good-wholesome-preppie. She had thought he was a thug. She had pictured him something like Oliver Twist where the twist was that the streets were much more ruthless and the children darker, dirtier, shameless and selfish. That he was an orphan. Not that all orphans were naughty little brats, but...

She wondered about his mother. Who was she who had saved him from the gutter? And his father. Why had Sarah's father badmouthed him?

She tried to collect her scurrying thoughts and turned her attention back to the young man before her.

"Oh..." she said, needing to gain time in coming up with an answer.

In doing so she looked down and saw that she was wearing a very nice dress. It was green silk and according to the fashion she suddenly noticed all the ladies were wearing.

"You can undress me, too?" she asked, eyes in Spike's, only William didn't seem to see Spike and his eyebrows rose high.

"Pardon me?" he said, making Buffy whip her head back to him.

"Oh," she repeated with a smile. "Eh... You were asking me something."

"Yes, you see, I am trying my outmost to put together a piece of lyricism and as it is I simply must find a new word to replace the one that I have."

She stared at him, not able to work away the shock which was taking over. Seeing him like this was like seeing the moon fall out of the sky – something she'd never expected could happen.

"Right," she said with another smile, hearing Spike grumble behind her. She ignored him. "And what word is it you have?"

"Effulgent," William replied, looking at the paper in his hand and then back at her. "It is frightfully decent a word, but does not quite ring the tone I am looking for."

"Ah," she nodded, desperately trying to remember some of the Jane Austen she had read in high school. Then she thought of Giles as a shining example and continued: "It is quite the predicament. Have you considered radiant?"

"Already did try that, I'm afraid. Quite the same predicament with that one."

She smiled brightly and he looked startled, but then returned the smile, correcting his glasses.

Spike huffed.

"You're William," Buffy stated and the young man blinked.

"Yes," he answered.

"I'm the crazy American girl, staying with... Lily," Buffy said.

Spike didn't like this at all.

Why the hell couldn't he get himself to shut the hell up already!

"Buffy Summers," she added, reaching out a hand and William took it gingerly, observing her face.

"I have the strangest feeling we have met somewhere before," he said.

"Hmh." Spots people meet, spots people meet. "The opera, maybe?"

"Oh, no, I never go," he said, suddenly growing self-conscious as he let go of her hand. "I'm very sorry; I am being terribly forward and not at all hospitable. Would you like some punch, Miss Summers?"

"No, thank you," she shook her head, narrowing her eyes as she watched him and then asked: "Why don't you ever go? To the opera, I mean?"

"Because," Spike gritted out, "he can't afford it."

He circled the pair until he stood behind himself, glaring at the useless image and shaking his head.

"Pitiful William," he grumbled. "Can only get an invite to these parties thanks to his mum's station in life. Being well-liked with her clientele has rendered her son more than a few favors to nights such as this. But he'll never fit in, will you, old boy?" he scoffed.

"Your mother..." Buffy mumbled and then she remembered the conversation he had had with Sarah. "She's a seamstress."

"One of London's finest, but only a seamstress," Spike nodded. "Not a brilliant Parisian fashion-setter. A copy-cat. However good, never good enough."

Buffy furrowed her brow at the true bitterness in his voice.

"Are you ashamed of her?"

"No," he smiled. "I'm too proud of her. I always knew she was better than what was whispered about her behind her back. About my father. And when he died..."

He trailed off, suddenly defensive. This was none of her business, was it? Why the bugger should she even care? He suddenly knew what she was doing, knew what she wanted. To poke her nose in and get a whiff of something truly him... It wasn't the same as sticking her head in and seeing. She would never do that, she would never dare to. And so he would rather leave it as it was, than have her judge and misunderstand.

Buffy looked at the man before her, took in his face, so different from the vampire's. There was no harshness of learning what the world truly was, there was no calculation of his surroundings or of the people, merely a staggering need to please, which was so obvious she thought she could nearly touch it. He was meek, subdued, withdrawn. Soft around the edges, which were to harden so terribly to form crannies fitting the demon coming to possess him. He was her, five and a half years ago, when she knew nothing of what she was. Of what part she was to play in forming the world she occupied.

_Always been bad_, his words rang through her head and despite herself she had to smile, turning her eyes in Spike's again.

So he had lied about his past, she wasn't surprised. Though amused. She could understand why he wouldn't want this to get out.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking and growled from the middle of his throat before turning away from her, walking a little into the room and looking around.

It was small, warm, inviting. They were in a house, and people were clearly having some sort of party. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen were mingling comfortably. Most seemed to be old friends. Buffy looked at them, and then back at William.

"What are you writing?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, nothing," he shook his head, embarrassed at her interest.

"Let me see," she encouraged, but he turned serious.

"Not before it is finished," he protested gently and her smile broadened as she looked into his eyes, so full of carefulness, gentleness even. "And I do have some more hunting to do."

"Mh, sounds like fun. Don't remember myself as fun," Spike commented.

Buffy gave him a look.

"Wanna sit?" she asked.

"Rather stand," Spike answered, but she slipped her hand onto William's arm as he escorted her up to a sofa.

"You have the most delightful accent," he heard William comment and he rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell," he swore silently.

It was a nightmare. A cold, dark nightmare and he was stuck in the middle of it. He wanted out. Needed to get Buffy out of there. Out of him. He couldn't do this anymore. He had to stop, had to focus on some way to control where they were taken. But it was like trying to tell himself what to dream, and though it had worked before, now it eluded him. He simply had to stand there and let it happen, let her speak with a piece of him long since dead.

He stared at her sitting next to his human self. How strange. How very strange. To see her so at ease with him. Was all the tension he got from her about the fangs? Then he realized that he knew what it was about – the demon. The beast within. And he didn't think it was the threat of it, but the knowledge that it was there and that the soul was lacking. It made is so much simpler, didn't it? To staple a note to his head saying evil. Why was she so scared to admit that he might be right, and that there might be more to a demon than she was so set on believing? More to him.

Buffy looked over at the vampire, who wore the outer appearance of a regular thundercloud. How typical. She decided to disregard him; only when she turned her gaze back in William's she was overwhelmed with how impossible a task that was. Because, despite what she told herself, he was sitting at her side. Despite what she tried to convince herself, she couldn't overlook the similarities between mortal and immortal. Spike's mannerism was different to the extreme from William's. William was timid, retracted, attentive to what she was saying. Spike was incapable of listening. But then William would look at her in a certain way, would smile one of those small smiles that she couldn't help but feel like she recognized, no matter how rare they might have been up until this moment.

She glanced at Spike every now and then. He looked uncomfortable. She liked that. She found herself listening extra closely to what William was saying simply to annoy the bleach head. His aggravation practically drifted at her through the air. So, a weak spot. She had found one of his and she wouldn't stop pressing down on it.

"I also find the Shakespearean prose to give large hints as to what you should wish to obtain with your sentence. He finds ways of explaining in one line what it would take me an entire paragraph," William was saying and she nodded.

"I see," she said, and then a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

"There's nothing here," Spike hissed. "We're moving on."

"Okay," she said patiently.

He let her go with a jerk.

She waited, raising her eyebrows when nothing happened.

"Well?"

"Yeah, well, I don't bloody well know how to get us outta here," he grumbled. "And I still don't get why the hell he chose you and me to do this, to find the bloody answer to the riddle."

"It doesn't matter why," Buffy said, the room slowly growing black around them. "What matters is how."

"What? You want me to line up every sodding demon I've ever come across?"

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Come across in Sunnydale would do," she replied.

There was a low rumble and then a flash as spotlights were lit over the head of those demons he had spoken of; lined up and ready for the Slayer and the Vamp's watchful eyes. Buffy's widened slightly before she turned them once more on Spike.

"There we go," she said.

He raised one shoulder in a shrug.

She recognized a lot of the faces, beginning to walk down the line like a general observing her prisoners of war. Many of them she knew as dead, and she realized Spike did as well because the spotlights over those demons were going black as the two of them continued their stroll.

"At least we're excluding a few," Buffy said.

"Yeah, but what do we get for it? Think we'll be able to limit them down to the one we're after?"

"No, but we can limit them to the ones likely to rhyme. Can you help with that, by the way? I mean, you're pretty fluent in the language of..."

"Shut your gob," he growled and she smirked, slowing as she came to a demon without a face; there were no features there, just smooth skin.

She furrowed her brow.

"This is new," she said, turning her head to Spike just as the incognito demon's arm shot out, grabbing her around the throat with one large hand, beginning to press in on her air pipes.

She felt herself lifted by the strong grip, her toes just above the floor. Her eyes were beginning to roll back in her head and there was a flicker before her eyes.

What's happening? her thoughts cried, but soon they were flattening out as well.

The last thing she glimpsed was an image of William and an image of Spike combining into one, and then she thought she heard his voice as it softly sighed her name.


	5. Soft Momentum

Hello, my friends!

Thanks for all your, as always, wonderful thoughts!

Terra (heh, no, it wasn't supposed to, but anything jerking any of your feeling-something-strings is a good thing. :) So great to read so much positivism from you! Very, very pleased you're still enjoying!) :), vanessa (bonjour! Aw, that's so... oh! Just good to hear, though perhaps it shouldn't be, that I made you cry! ;) No wonder, if you can relate to it! I'm so happy it turned out for the better for you guys! Thanks, girl!) :), Lou (Lovely! Hope to keep it up, the last piece shouldn't be placed until the last chapter, right?) ;) and last but in no way least starhawk (thanks so much. I truly hope this chapter won't disappoint!) :)

To all, I truly hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!

Much Love,

Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Soft Momentum¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

Actually he was screaming her name. Throwing himself forward he attacked the demon without a second thought. He pounded on its head, drew back and kicked it in the chest, nothing happened whatsoever. He felt panic wafting through him like hot steam at the limpness of the Slayer. Her not fighting back was far on the opposite side of good. Finally the frustration brought him to exclaim:

"Let her _go_!"

At the last word the row of demons, all of them, swiftly slid backwards, into darkness, disappearing. Buffy was still hanging midair and he was by her the following instant, putting his hands in her armpits and at the touch she seemed to slacken. He sunk down with her on the gray floor beneath them, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and putting his free hand by her cheek.

She wasn't breathing.

"Buffy," he said. "Buffy!" he yelled, shaking her. "Jesus Christ, look at me. Look at me!"

And she did.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she met his gaze right before she drew a hacking breath and began to cough. He closed his eyes tightly, his hold on her hardening with the relief pouring itself through him. He didn't understand until that moment how convinced he had been of the severity of her state, and of how she had been slipping away. She had been, he had felt it like a soft raking sensation through his hair, collecting at the nape of his neck.

And now he sat facing the comprehension of how empty he would feel if she was ever gone. And how her death would never come by his hand. So it was finished, truly, no more running around what she had become to him.

She was drawing slow breaths, regaining familiarity with the feeling, her hands going to his arms and she clung to him, finding her way back out of the obscurity she had gone into. She looked up and met his gaze, suddenly aware of how close he was. Why was he so close?

"You okay?" he asked, noticing the growing questions in her eyes and he pulled away from her before getting both of them to their feet.

She cleared her throat, her hands still on his arms. She brought them down with a yank, taking a slight step back. The pressure which had been lingering across her throat was completely gone. It felt as though it had never been there. What went racing through her mind now was why he had bothered to save her. Then she thought that he hadn't, that she had been released by the other demon for some unknown reason. But she knew what she had heard. She had heard him telling her to look at him; that was what had forced her to open her eyes.

She stared at him with deep wonderment and he couldn't take it anymore.

"There has to be somewhere more interesting," he said with a look at the empty space they occupied.

"How about whatever place No Face went to?" she asked, her gaze not growing less inquisitive as it eyed him.

"Right," he said.

"Why did that happen, you think?" she asked as he began to glance around, as though hoping the scenery would magically change again.

"I don't know, you were about to fall so I... It was a reaction to the almost falling of you that I chose to... react... act on. I just grabbed you, is all, bloody hell, it's no big deal!"

She furrowed her brow. She had never, ever seen him fidget. She had never, ever heard him stutter.

"I was talking about the whole demon-strangly situation," she said and his eyes widened just enough for her to pick up on it.

Suddenly his crypt came rushing in to surround them and he felt an entirely different kind of relief at the sight of it.

"Oh, there we go," he said.

He saw himself sitting in the armchair, drinking. Alright. Then the door was kicked in. By the Slayer.

Buffy was at his side, watching the scene as well. She crossed her arms over her chest. He was frowning, struggling to place the memory.

She had a stake in her hand. She was wearing red jeans, a white top, and suddenly he realized exactly what it was.

"I don't remember this," Buffy said and his eyes grew very large.

"Well, this isn't really very interesting," he stated as the Slayer entered the crypt, stake held in a very threatening way. "Let's move on, shall we?"

He concentrated every fiber of his being on switching the scenery, and through some sort of miracle it worked.

Drusilla lay draped across a bed, her dark hair spilling over the edge and her frail-looking frame hidden beneath nothing but a thin sheet. She was staring at something in the ceiling. Suddenly Spike came into view, a hurried air about him as he sat down, bringing a silvery cup to her dry lips. She barely reacted, but did take some of the liquid in her mouth.

"Good," he said. "Now swallow." She did, her eyes growing as though something appeared above her.

"Oh," she moaned. "The flower seeds are spreading. They'll grow into black roses. We have to put some on her grave."

"We will," he assured, brushing her hair from her forehead tenderly. "And you'll be better, love. By then we'll dance on her tombstone."

The vampiress smiled.

"Dance," she whispered. "Baby steps and twirls and singing. Will she be there?"

"No, Dru," he replied. "She'll be dead, see?"

"Cold. In the ground."

"Yes, like that."

Buffy took a step forward, feeling her skin begin to crawl as she realized they were speaking about her.

"You'll do it for me?"

"Yes," he said, bringing one of her hands to his lips, only he turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist instead, making her smile widen.

"Darling," she mumbled. "How good you are to me. Can you see?"

He sighed.

"See what?"

"They tell me of her," she said. "They show me her face. They say she's strong, Spike. And then they try to tickle me." She giggled, waving a hand feebly before her face. "They're pink and purple and they glitter."

He touched her forehead, a concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Not much longer now, pet," he said softly.

"Is there a point to this?" Buffy asked, turning her head to the Spike who was next to her.

"I'm not enjoying it anymore than you are," he muttered.

"Right you're not," she muttered back.

"Just... give me a second."

Finally the scenery shifted once more and she found herself back on the sofa in the pretty house, William sitting next to her as though nothing had happened.

"Bloody _hell_!" Spike exclaimed.

"...perpetually dreary and it fills me with sorrow for her. I wish there was more that I could do. She doesn't get out much, you see."

Buffy took her eyes off the frustration of the vampire, turning them on his mortal image with a slightly puzzled look.

"My mother," he said, as if wanting to remind her of what they had been talking about.

"Your mother?"

"Her health is poor," he sighed, "but I do try to make her go to Kensington Gardens at least once a week. The sun does her good."

"Oh, bugger," Spike grumbled in the background.

"She's sick?"

"She acts as though she isn't," William said. "But as a son, one notices these things. Even the slightest deterioration in demeanor is enough to cause worry. And she is so very tired all the time."

Buffy felt something tight grasp her heart.

"My... my mom's sick, too," she admitted, even as the words were spoken feeling as though it was a mere thought in her head whether they should or shouldn't be.

William looked awfully concerned at this.

"Does she have the coughs?"

"No," Buffy replied. "Headaches... It's... a tumor."

Spike glanced at her, feeling his agitation begin to be replaced by the same emotion showing so clearly on William. He knew Joyce was sickly, but hadn't fully grasped the scope of it, he supposed.

Buffy refused to acknowledge him as he turned to her. This information wasn't for him; it was for a ghost of one-hundred years.

"Oh dear, it sounds horribly bleak," William mumbled tentatively. "I wish I should know just what to say, but I truly don't. I guess, at times such as these, words matter little."

He glanced at the arc of paper still in his hand and then put it aside, carefully reaching out his hands to take hers. The touch was simple, but she reacted to the smoothness of his hands, and the body heat which warmed her skin. When she had grown cold, she didn't know.

"Keep in thought all the good things working in this world to make your mother well. She cannot be meant to suffer, and so the resolution will come quickly."

"She... she's getting better," Buffy mumbled.

"Soon she shall be completely restored, I'm sure, and when she is you must bring her over for tea."

She met his gaze, saw the absolute earnestness in them, and felt her mouth soften into a smile.

"She's a sea away," she said.

"Oh, why, of course," William smiled back, letting her hands go. "If ever she visits London," he extended the invitation and she nodded.

Spike took in the little scenario, his thoughts jumbling together within him. Or was that outside him? Or within-within him? He waved the questions away, returning to the matter at hand: the look on Buffy's face, which sent a thrill of compassion running through him.

"Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?" he asked as Buffy excused herself to William and rose to her feet.

She frowned, finally looking at him.

"Why would I tell you anything?"

He grabbed her arm, making her stop her movement of walking away and keep her gaze in his.

"I would've wanted to know," he said.

He wore the same expression as the other he had a minute earlier, only honesty residing in his eyes.

"Let go," Buffy demanded silently and he did as she asked, watching as she moved into the crowd.

There was something the matter with her, she couldn't breathe. She needed air.

Pushing through the gathered guests she spotted what must be the front door; she headed for it on legs that were buckling under her weight. She didn't feel right. She wanted to stop this now, before things crumbled, before things fell apart. She grabbed the handle, twisted it and pushed the door open, halting with a yell as she stood on the ledge of a steep cliff and below clashed mighty waves, gaping wide with their foamed teeth reaching for her, as though all they wanted was to devour her.

She drew a breath and then another, the air thick with the smell of ocean.

The dress had been switched for black pants and a black top and her hair was let out, the hard breeze playing catch with it.

"We have to do this!" Drusilla's voice exclaimed behind her and she spun around.

"I know that, Dru. Bloody hell, you think we've come this far for me not to understand that!"

It was Spike. They were a little way further in, but standing on the cliff as well. Drusilla was wearing red and Buffy knew it was much earlier than the scenario she had seen before. The dress was cut in an old fashion. Early twentieth century. It was 1912. The Slayer simply knew it.

"If they catch us..." Drusilla stated.

"Yes, they will burn us and we will be turned into ashes and most probably scattered over this charming place, would you enjoy that, Dru?"

"It's my not enjoying it which is pushing me to push you! Be a good dolly and do as I ask!"

"I am _not_ a _doll_, _Dru_."

"Stop calling me by my name if you're going to use it so insensitively, they are listening and will take offense."

"And what will they do? Attack me! They're smaller than my hand!"

"You do not know, you cannot see them!"

"Yes, but you've described them to me for quite a few sodding years, love, I think my appreciation of their size is fairly accurate!"

"There, now you've done it."

"Are they mad?"

"Yes."

"And do you think they are angrier than the mob coming up that hill to burn us!"

She grew hesitant, then replied with a swift:

"No."

Grabbing his hand she walked with him up to the edge of the cliff, stopping right by Buffy.

"Oh, wow," the Slayer mumbled, looking where they were: down at the raging sea below. "Are you? Really? Going to?"

"We count to three," Drusilla said. "One."

"Two."

"Three!"

But they didn't jump. Drusilla turned her head to him.

"Spike, we must!"

The sound of shouts was rising behind the trees lining the cliff and Buffy blinked. So mobs did sound like a pack of angry dogs.

"I know," he murmured. "One."

"Two."

They braced themselves and then took the step into the air needed to send them to meet the water. Buffy felt her eyes grow large at the sight of them falling and falling before splashing into it.

"Holy crap," she said.

"Hardest getaway we ever pulled," Spike's voice sounded and when she turned to him they were in his crypt.

Candles were lit everywhere.

"What're we doing here?" she asked.

"What'd you mean?"

"Well, it's... new and you're... Not that it matters what you have on, because it doesn't, but you... You don't. Well, at least not usually..."

She trailed off, knowing she sounded as ridiculous as she thought and wondering why she had even started talking in the first place.

It's just a sweater, for heaven's sake, she told herself. He's wearing a sweater and it's not black and you feel the need to comment on it. How weird of you.

He seemed to shrug it off, stating:

"Thought we needed somewhere... neutral to... regroup. We're not getting anywhere, are we?"

"I wouldn't say that. Besides, we won't know 'til we've been in my head and compared notes."

"And what about No Face?"

"Should be our guy. Unless you conjured him."

"Buffy."

"Alright," she put her hands up. "Fine. Neutral is as neutral does, or something... But you got us here?"

"I've managed to work it a _few_ times."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, sitting down in the armchair.

"I don't like it."

"Fine, I'll stand," she said, rising.

"No, please, sit," he stopped her, making her meet his gaze and he grew self-conscious. "I mean, you wanna stand, stand. I just... I'm not sitting, so... sit."

She did.

"You don't like what?" she asked.

"This situation..."

"I don't either. I think there's more to it."

"I agree."

"But I don't know either, why he chose us."

"Or she."

"Yeah, but No Face had to be male."

"_Had_ to?"

"Well, he was so big."

"You never seen a female troll?"

"True. I think he's a he, though."

"I just wanna know where to bloody look."

Buffy's face lighted up and she stood.

"Maybe we're not supposed to. Maybe that's the whole point. Our subconscious works for us. Like when we dream we deal with stuff we can't seem to deal with during the day. So if we let our subconscious take us where it wants to..."

"Chances are it'll take us exactly where we need to be. But all the bloody memories... they're too old."

"So maybe they're just steps in the right direction. Anyways, I think I'm starting to get a hang of it."

He watched her take a seat again and marveled at the fact that they had just had their first discussion which hadn't lead straight into an argument.

"Are we agreeing on something here?"

"Hmh," she said. "Should we be worried?"

He smirked, though she couldn't see it. He wished he could reach out a hand and touch her, make her turn her head to him, look at him, smile. But as the sound of her sitting back in the armchair pierced his thoughts, he did nothing but circled round to face her.

She looked at him, having waited for a response to her query. He rested his eyes in hers and for one split second she saw William looking at her with that certain strange warmth, softening the blue of his irises into something induced by light. She caught her breath, knitting her brow in slight stupefaction.

"What?" he asked.

"You're..." Her stupefaction turned into eyes widening as a red mark appeared by his hairline. "Bleeding," she finished.

She didn't know how she was all of a sudden standing, but not much took her off guard at this point. The crypt faded away, surrounding them was the alley behind the Bronze, and the blood was slowly making its way from his brow to his jaw.

"You're bleeding," she repeated.

"Been excommunicated," he shrugged, her expression growing quizzical again. "No longer a welcomed part of the demon community. You surprised, love?"

And she who had thought she'd done such a good job at hiding it.

"No," she covered. "I didn't expect you to be embraced and bowed down to for..."

"Helping you?"

His ironic expression irritated her. Because of course she wouldn't have finished the sentence that way, but he couldn't help but point out how obvious it already was to him that she wouldn't have, and he simply had to be all smug about it. The idiot.

"I _pay_ you half the time, smartass," she shot, but when his gaze steadily intensified, searching her face for no apparent reason, she found herself looking away.

"So Joyce is getting better?"

She turned her head back to him, finding him nothing but sincere. It staggered her, but only for a second; then she answered:

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said.

"I didn't know you'd have any reason to be," she commented, though it was practically a query, the note of sarcasm which would have been in the sentence being left out as she held his gaze.

He was about to answer, then checked himself, eyeing her for a moment before he asked:

"Her being sick... was that why you were crying?"

She frowned, and the scenery swirled into her backyard, where she saw herself sitting on the stoop. Yes, she remembered this night well. She sighed, her other self having her face hidden against her arms, crying silently. She watched Spike come into the scene, her eyebrows rising at the shotgun he was carrying. She didn't remember him having it. She remembered him showing up, but... He looked about ready to kill her; and she realized that, of course, that was why he was there. Why else would he have come? But then the other her looked up, tears streaking her face, and observed him, and everything about him changed.

Buffy watched the scene as it unfolded, the Spike standing at her side, observing it as well, growing tenser by the second.

It didn't help when he glanced at her and noticed how absorbed she was in what was happening before them. Between them. Within him. The tentativeness with which he tried to console her, a soft pat on one of her shoulder blades, and that was it. Nothing more, but it was enough for her to now turn to him and he waited anxiously for what was to come.

"I didn't remember the shotgun," she stated.

"Guess you had better things on your mind."

"Not really."

"No, suppose not." He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "I didn't bring it... to... I wasn't going to..."

She looked skeptical, and her eyes were much too curious, and so he dropped it.

"So, why didn't you?"

"The... the chip."

She furrowed her brow.

"The blood's gone," she said, stepping up to him and reaching up a hand to place it at the side of his face.

As she did it, she didn't know what impulse she was following; but there was no mistaking what her touch did as his gaze softened swiftly and she brought her hand away again, every single denial-cell she possessed began working overtime as she walked past him and headed out of the yard, into the alley beyond it and further to the street.

He didn't wait long before he followed.

She was reaching the street as he entered the alley and he knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling, what question marks were rising in her head. He had known it would come to this, God damnit, and he'd done it anyway. Why? Why had he complied when he should have run the hell out of there when he was told what they needed to do?

"Buffy!" he called after her.

"You know what I want!" she called back, looking at him over her shoulder. "I want...!"

But she didn't get to finish the sentence, because she walked straight into what felt like a block of concrete. She turned her head back to facing forward just in time to see the featurelessness of No Face. She was about to give a yell when his hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her with him into the middle of the street with such awesome force she lost her breath.

Their surroundings began to change, No Face continuing with the dragging her forward and when she looked back she saw Spike coming out of the alley, the vision of him blurring when the scenery-switch started to close in around her. He would be stuck on the other side. She tried to tear free, but there was no use.

"Spike!" she yelled, seeing him begin to run towards her just as the wall of a room grew into firmness, and he was gone.


	6. Stranger Things

Hi, dears,

Thank you, as ever, so much for your support and encouragement! I could not sum up in any words how good it makes me feel to hear from you!

Terra (Very glad to hear you enjoyed the chapter, and the certain parts used from the show. Cool that that was the first ep you ever saw! I love that scene, it's so dynamic, somehow. And the color of Spike's sweater was actually intentionally left out so that you might picture him in whatever color you'd prefer – though it will be sort of mentioned later on, which color I would've chosen.) :), kim (heheh, indeed!) ;) and starhawk (so happy that you liked it! Here's the update!) :)

To all, deep gratitude and I do so hope you will enjoy.

All My Love, Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Stranger Things¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

"Buffy!" Spike exclaimed; the sight of her paling away behind a hue of gray, disappearing just as he reached it and leaving him standing alone in the middle of the street. "Jesus, Mary and all the bloody saints!"

He calmed himself, forcing him to stand still and concentrate. Whatever No Face was, he _had_ to be an intruder. No mere memory would be powerful enough to tear her away from him like that. So, they had a glitch. A bug. All he had to do now was find them.

Buffy's strong, he told himself. Fiercely sodding strong, don't worry about her.

But he did.

¤

She was in the living room of her own house. No Face had one arm across her throat and the other was fumbling for something that it couldn't seem to quite reach. She waited a long second and then saw her opening, kicking one leg up and hitting him in the crotch. He barely flinched. She rolled her eyes at the typicality; she _would_ run into a supernatural being inside a supernatural being, wouldn't she? But something told her Spike had nothing to do with it, and she couldn't make sense of why she should think that.

No time to mull it over, she had to get out of the current situation.

As if on cue No Face unfolded the arm pinning her to him, spinning her out and grabbing her by the throat instead.

"Are we... really back to this?" she got out.

He raised his other arm, holding something which glinted menacingly in the subdued lighting. Her hands went to his wrist, trying to pry his hand off her throat, her eyes fixed on the object being brought slowly closer. She could see it clearly. It was a dagger, colored copper and bearing intricate carvings across the blade. It was quite pretty, looked at out of context. As the point drew nearer she decided she'd had enough.

She tightened her abdomen and then delivered a high kick to the side of No Face's head, making him loosen his grip in pure surprise and stumble to the side. The dagger fell out of his hand and she went for it, but stopped mid-step as he was getting to his feet. She stood indecisive for only an instant, and then she turned and ran for the front door. She could only pray she'd bump into Spike, or that he'd sense her and find her.

Now, _there_ was a thought she'd never believed could find a place in her mind.

She didn't look behind her as she sprinted across the lawn and out into the street. They had just been here; perhaps he was still there somewhere. She was about to round the curb when the ground disappeared from under her feet and she hung suspended in the air, feeling her heart pound its way into her throat as she looked down and understood that she was about to fall into the brightness of light below her. Then a hand grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her left, bringing earth under the soles of her shoes once more. She only had time to think "Oh, thank..." before she was turned around and pushed up against a tombstone, one of her arms above her head and a hand linking its fingers with hers.

Blue eyes pierced their way into her and she felt a swirl in the pit of her stomach, assigning it to relief.

"Sp-..." she began, but he stopped her by nearly growling:

"Think it's time we finished this."

"Wha-..." she tried again, only the hand of his holding hers yanked her to the side and sent her tumbling to the ground; turning onto her back she stared at him. "What the hell!"

He moved forward, about to deliver a kick when she rolled away from him, getting to her feet and ducking when he tried to punch her, putting a hook in his side, a kick on his shin and straightening herself up.

He wasn't him. It was another memory.

"Come on," he smirked. "I know you can do better?"

"Yeah, you do," she agreed, jumping up and kicking him in the chest, making him stumble backwards and into the headstone she had just left behind.

She was on him the next moment, pressing him tightly against the jagged rock and making him meet her gaze as she brought out a stake.

Whoa, where'd that come from? she thought, only her arm moved on its own, placing it against the spot of his heart.

"Careful with that," he murmured, eyes not leaving hers.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Might be curious to see what sort of damage this'd produce in a _master_ vampire, for a change."

She furrowed her brow.

Where'd _that_ come from?

"Yeah?" he asked.

He put an arm up, bringing the stake to the side as he moved her around, making her take the place he had vacated before leaning into her and she drew a small breath at the hunger in his gaze, the desire to possess, to own. Her.

"This is a fantasy," she mumbled. "Your fantasy..."

His eyes showed something not far from gentleness before be brought his lips to her jaw line, softly sliding them along it. Her heart began to quicken, her legs to weaken, and an ache started which was all the more surprising. She didn't know what she wanted or what she felt or how she should react. She was part of his mind, and in this particular part of his mind she relented, let him take over. She closed her eyes, hearing the shift of muscle and tissue as he vamped out.

His mouth traveled to the side of her throat and she felt her pulse escalating in anticipation.

"Hey!"

The weight of him disappeared at the sound of his voice as he turned to face himself. She opened her eyes and met the other Spike's gaze, concluding it was the Spike she knew and that he had finally managed to track her down.

"Hey," the imaginary Spike said before his shape was pulled to join with his creator.

Buffy pushed away from the tomb, smoothing out her clothes as she faced him.

"Well, there you are," she said.

He was staring at her.

"You were about to let him bite you," he said, sounding truly astonished.

"Don't talk about yourself in third person, it creeps me out."

"Alright. You were about to let me bite you!"

She blinked.

"Where have you been! I was looking for you, _after_ hitting No Face over the head and escaping the evil, evil... well, and all that _after_ he tried to skewer me with some strange thingamabob, and can I help it if I thought you'd found me?"

"And as thanks, you...?"

"Hey, I should be the one pointing fingers at _you_. _You_ just tried to bite me, and don't you even start denying that the thought's been in your head for a really long time, because you are _not_ that good a liar."

"I won't deny it," he said. "Why the bleeding hell should I? I'm a vampire. 'Course I'll wanna bite you."

"Well, yeah."

She trailed off. She had been making a point and now she was loosing it.

"But what was with the kissing down my neck?" she found her track. "I thought you'd be all grr-argh and chew on me a little, but there you were being all oh-what-soft-skin-you-have and I'll-just-have-a-little-nibble and there was leaning. And why did you bring that shotgun if you weren't gonna use it? What could possibly have changed your mind?"

"It wasn't..."

"It didn't have anything to do with me, did it?"

"I bloody..."

"I mean, it _couldn't_ have anything to do with me, 'cause that'd totally shake the foundation on which we've built this splendid hatred filled relationship."

He was half a second from giving a different response, but then agreed:

"No. Nothing to do with you."

The graveyard around them morphed slowly, bringing them into a bedroom; which immediately produced a positive flood of memories for him. He had stayed in it for the first three years when it had only been him and Dru.

At the moment it was empty save for him and Buffy. He looked at her, raising his eyebrows.

She turned her gaze out of his, beginning to explore the room, fighting to keep her thoughts from being revealed on her face, or spoken aloud in the dusty vacuum which was this memory. Thoughts of his mouth on her skin. Thoughts of his teeth through her flesh. She felt herself grow warm at the sheer blasphemy she was committing against everything she believed in, in thinking of what it might be like... to be such a part of him.

Wow. She truly was appalled and shocked and quickly got her mind off its previous and so devastating track by beginning to pay attention to the details of what surrounded her. Her eyes caught on a fantastic velvet robe in soft red and she admired it freely. It had been thrown over the back of a chair standing before a low desk. She picked the piece of clothing up, stroking its soft fabric and wondering about its history.

"That's Drusilla's," Spike commented.

She dropped the garment instantly.

He smirked.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and two giggling vampires came through it, Drusilla jumping up and wrapping her legs around him before kissing him deeply. Buffy's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when they began to quickly undress. Then she covered her line of sight with one hand, putting the other one out as a provisory shield.

"If you wanna walk down memory lane that's none of my business, but let me get out of the way."

He looked at her, unable to keep down another small smile before he was beside her in the blink of an eye; leaning close, murmuring in her ear:

"Say please."

She jerked, moving her hand away to glare at him, trying not to try desperately to calm away the goose bumps spreading over her arms and shoulders at his face being so close to hers. The way he affected her nearly frightened her with its unfamiliarity, and her glare darkened.

"You can't seriously wanna make me watch," she gestured to the bed, "that."

"Can make you listen to it," he remarked.

"Spike, I will strap you to a chair and whip you raw when we're inside my head if you don't stop this right this minute," she stated and now he turned fully to look at her, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"You promise?" he asked.

"You're one sick pup," she grumbled, placing her hands over her ears.

He smiled, wishing he didn't find her so damn adorable, but he did. And, yeah, sometimes she was such a buggering pain in the ass that he really did want to kill her rather than deal with her. But times like these...

"Spike!" she gritted out, bringing her arms down and fixing him with her green eyes. "If you don't..."

But then she halted; a look of incredulity coming over her features, which was followed by a frown, a deep, incredulous furrowing of her brow, and suddenly he realized why. They turned their heads to the bed at the same time.

Buffy felt her eyes grow wide again.

Her image was under him on that bed, writhing slowly with every movement he made, her eyes in his. She saw the muscles of his back work as he softly thrust into her. There was a swirl somewhere hidden inside her at the sight of the two bodies so entangled, before the actuality of it all came back to rear its ugly, ugly face.

"Where..." she asked the vampire at her side, "where have you heard me make those noises?"

She suddenly remembered cigarette stumps underneath the tree outside her window and just like that she spun to face him, hitting him across the jaw so hard it brought him off-balance, making him take a few steps back.

"You _listened_! To me and Riley! You... you... inconceivable... I..."

She couldn't get anything else out, she was so angry and so shaken that the words completely froze in her throat and she lowered her arm again, watching him regain his balance.

"What are you doing?" she finally murmured. "Why am I here? In here? What am I doing inside your head, Spike? Beneath you... like that?"

He stared at her. She contemplated him for another moment; then walked past him and through the door of the room, stepping onto the deck of a ship. It was wooden and massive. Sailors were doing what they were supposed to all around her. The sky showed the beginning of a storm as its frock was gray bordering on black. A bolt of lightning split the horizon and there were yells from the sailors, encouraging each other to hurry up. The sea was beginning to rage, as though objecting to the warmth of the sun having been stolen from its waves.

She spun around when she realized Spike had followed, that he was standing behind her.

"You need to stop," she said, the wind picking up its howl around them. "Whatever it is you're doing, you need to stop."

He looked at her, at how deathly afraid she seemed, and he needed to find out what had gotten her so spooked, because in her eyes he could see something else, and her words weren't convincing him.

"I don't wanna stop," he replied.

Her brow creased, as though she couldn't comprehend. Of course she couldn't. She couldn't understand what she did to him, how this craving for her resided not only within him, but throughout him. How he wanted her with everything he was, ever had been, ever would be. And how he wanted her to want him in the same way.

"Spike," she said, but what was to follow was lost as he stepped into her, a drop of rain hitting the top of her head as she put her hands up against his chest, trying to keep him away. "Stop," she protested as his arms moved around her, pulling her even closer. Another drop of rain, this one hitting the tip of her nose right before more followed, and more. "What're you doing?" she grumbled as he moved his face toward hers, but his lips caught hers and silenced her.

Softness, her mind registered.

But she was struggling against him, her hands sliding over the wet leather of his duster as the rain began to positively pour down on them. She felt her body scream for release, to get away from him. She had to get away from him. And then his tongue roughly made her open her mouth and the kiss deepened as her hands began to relax, sliding to his neck. It wasn't until many moments later that she realized she was kissing him back, and that she was responding to his hands caressing her back, shoulder blades, neck line. He was producing a throb, a soft need for more, and when she began to get out of the daze she was in, and felt it, it pushed her into action.

"No," she said, mouth still to his. "No," she repeated, bringing her head away though his lips touched on her cheek, her jaw, her throat and her heart started pumping at the feel of it. "No. No!" she exclaimed, finally pushing him off her. "What...? What was that?" she breathed. "Don't say anything," she stopped him. "It wasn't anything. It was nothing."

She was trembling oddly all over, and she pushed a few soaked strands of hair out of her face, straightening herself up and drawing a breath to steady herself. It had been nothing. It was her being in his head. Nothing more.

He took in her expression and knew that it was a battle lost.

She was like an imprint in his arms, he could still feel her near, and he couldn't believe it was already gone. Even though it was so evident that to her, it was.

But I've fallen in love with you, he thought, pausing as her face suddenly froze, her eyes going to his.

The sea calmed itself in less than a second, the clouds evaporating to leave way for a sky painted with the glory of sunset. The rim of the ocean was stroked with gold as the glowing sun was slowly sinking behind it.

The deck was empty save for them and the serenity was complete.

Except inside the Slayer.

"What?" she said.

Did she hear me? he wondered.

Her eyes filling with astonishment told him that she had.

She felt her insides fall into a pit she hadn't known she possessed. The sensation wouldn't stop, her heart beginning to grow heavy. She didn't want to know, but now that the words were echoing around her she couldn't ignore them. If she tried, she had a feeling they would grow louder and louder in sheer persistence. She was looking at him; waiting for him to make some sort of move, make the air vibrate with a different statement. But he didn't, he simply looked back at her, seemingly as astounded as she was.

What could he say?

"I'm in love with you," he murmured.

"That's ridiculous."

"Right," he nodded, "'cause I can't love."

"No, you can't. You can't love if you don't have a soul."

Annoyance and indignation bubbled up inside him as though it had been at the ready for a moment just as this.

"Hmh," he said. "And if Giles didn't teach you that, then who did?"

"I told you..."

"Couldn't 've been Angel, could it?"

Her eyes sharpened themselves in an instant.

"You don't wanna go there," she warned.

"Where? How he loved you with a soul, but how his demon couldn't bloody stand you? Don't wanna go there?"

She clenched her jaws together, feeling anger push away confusion and she welcomed it with open arms.

"You live in a safe little cube with your safe little beliefs and it's a sad, sad sight, love."

"_Don't_ call me love."

"This is reality and it's brutal and it's there and all you can do is embrace it."

"I'll never embrace _you_," she bit, glowering at him. "I'm done. I want out of here. Right now."

With that she twirled on her heel and began walking away from him, heading for the opposite side of the ship. Hell, she'd swim away from him if she had to. Just so long as she didn't have to look at him anymore.

"Why did you almost let me taste you!" he called after her and she halted, turning back to him.

"The bite has nothing to do with feelings," she replied coldly.

He stared at her and in the next blink he was before her, bringing her hair away to expose the right side of her throat.

"It doesn't?" he asked.

She swiped at his hand, aggravated.

"Just stop," she said. "Give it up."

"Yes, because I haven't tried. Think I wanted this to happen to me?"

"What _am_ I, a disease?"

"Yeah, you are. Some kind of a flesh-eating virus."

She gave him a look, but a slight smile curled her lips despite her best effort to hold it back and she glanced to the side, growing self-conscious. What was she doing?

He noticed it, though; couldn't do anything but; and it placed a smirk on his mouth.

"Look," she began, not knowing what she wanted to continue with, or why she had even spoken.

She rested her eyes in his and was caught by the mixture of emotions he managed to stir in her. How he tapped into her because she was linked to him by strolling through his subconscious. That had to be the explanation – it wasn't her feeling this tremor of a need to listen to him, it was him putting it in her breast, just as easily as he had read her mind before.

"It isn't real," she mumbled. "Whatever you think is there – it isn't real."

"It's so easy, innit?" he wondered silently, the ship spinning slowly around them and turning into a room they had been in before, where a violin was still playing. "To write it off as something I got into my head one day?"

She wanted to say something, but there was no time as they were hurled into the memory playing out around them.

Buffy watched as William had his poetry ripped from his hands, and how it was ridiculed before the guests, who laughed heartily at what the reader saw fit to add as comment.

"I'd rather have a rail road spike through my head..."

And she noticed the girl, who made William almost blush. Cecily. The man who had read the poem made a jibe that it was about her and the girl blushed as well, rushing out of sight. William grabbed the piece of paper from the culprit with subdued anger in his gaze, and then he hurried after Cecily.

There was a time jump and Buffy was outside. She frowned, looking around and halting when she saw William coming hastening down the street, ripping the paper into shreds. She wanted to stop him, talk to him, but he didn't see her and she couldn't move.

Another jump brought her into an alley, where he was facing Drusilla. Her blood seemed to run cold at the presence of the vampiress and the meaning of it for William. Spike stepped out of the shadows to the left of the two other forms, eyeing them distantly before fastening his gaze in Buffy's.

All of a sudden she was William, seeing the scene from his point of view and a myriad of new emotions attacked her. Fear, suspicion, curiosity, awakening desire. Drusilla was seducing him, efficiently. Buffy sensed other convictions within William, of unworthiness which could be turned around, of the wanting to make something more of him; something better, something grand. And Drusilla was feeding this need with whispers, all of them hitting exactly where she aimed them. She was making him believe, making him leave everything else behind. A world where he would always be inferior, ridiculed, less.

There had been no choice; he had to walk with her.

Buffy heard him say yes, oh, God, yes, and his fate was sealed.

The next moment she was back in the house, she was on a sofa, and William was facing her.

"William, your poems... they're not all about me, are they?"

I'm Cecily, Buffy thought.

Deep discomfort was stirring within her, aversion to what she was suspecting to hear from him, and once he answered, utter dejection.

His face turned very close to enraptured, and he said:

"Every syllable."

There was so much hope in him, so much conviction that he could win this young lady over.

But she would have none of it. Her indignation was growing as he spoke – at his nerve. She pitied him, but there was no compassion in her, only the need to get away from him and his association as quickly as possible, and so she rose and ended their exchange with:

"You're beneath me."

Only in the middle of the sentence she wasn't Cecily anymore, she was lying on the asphalt in the alley outside the Bronze, looking up at herself right before having a wad of bills thrown at her. She was Spike, and it took less than a second for her to be overcome by what was moving in his chest, as her image walked away.

The pain, the humiliation, the longing and underneath all of it a need and want and love as the tears began falling.

Buffy struggled to separate herself from him, to get away from this drowning in him. He was everywhere. And then there was darkness. There was an overwhelming craving to destroy, to rip and to burn her out of him. And with that feeling she was spat out and was standing looking down at him once again, only he was drying his tears with harsh movements, getting to his feet. She was absolutely speechless, staring at him.

It couldn't be the truth; he had to have manufactured it somehow. She couldn't trust him, she knew that. But he lingered within her, moved through her, and she couldn't discard him. She couldn't focus; the impressions she was under were racing away with every shred of reason, and practicality. She wanted to deny him this soft benefit of a doubt rising within her, but couldn't. She felt what he felt. He couldn't have manufactured that, couldn't have made it up.

He could tell that she was trying to wrap her mind around this, but she was seeing him for the very first time, and it was a start.

Suddenly they were falling, faster and faster, light surrounding them in flashes that grew closer and closer together until they combined into a shimmering cascade of bright glittering.

And through this, they woke.

Buffy drew a breath, easing her eyes open and meeting Willow's worried gaze.

"Buffy?" Her voice was far, far away. "Are you okay?"

"Do the How-Many-Fingers thing."

"She wasn't knocked out, Xander."

The following moment Buffy was fully conscious and began to sit up.

"Easy," Giles said, "drink this."

"Don't I get the special treatment?" Spike's voice muttered at her side and she felt herself tense.

"No, see, to us, you're pretty much always of little to no consequence," Xander remarked.

"Oh, yeah, even when I'm inconsequently saving your sorry ass, Monkey Boy?"

"Hey, I'd go easy on the insults there, pal, considering you're about to go under again and just might wake up with a permanent marker mustache, or even a beard."

"And you might find yourself in a sticky bloody situation with some sort of kitchen appliance."

"You can't hurt me."

"_I_ wouldn't," Spike replied, making a meaningful rotating motion with both of his forefingers and Xander's eyes grew.

"You can't," he then said. "He can't, right?" he added, looking at Willow, who rolled her eyes at him and reached for a mug, handing it to the vampire.

"Here," she said. "Nothing special," she added.

He sniffed the blood, then gave her a grateful look and began to drink.

Buffy swallowed her water, putting the glass down and getting to her feet, promptly pushing any confusion, and whatever else there was to deal with concerning the bleached-vampire-menace, out of her head. It would simply have to wait; they had more urgent things to sort through.

"Alright. Anything to report?" she asked Giles.

"I believe that's my question."

"Well, we've traveled back in time," she said, feeling like her voice was bordering on cheerful and trying to tone it down a little as she continued: "There were pretty dresses. Oh, and there was some sort of demon that tried to kill me with a dagger."

"Buffy almost got killed inside Spike's head," Xander recapped. "Shocker."

"No, I don't think..." she trailed off, meeting Spike's gaze for the first time and growing tentative, but then she finished: "I mean, we didn't really discuss it, but he seemed off... like he didn't belong. He couldn't have been some long lost brain-freeze, could he?"

"No," Spike replied, noting the close to guarded state she seemed to have slipped into. "But was it our poet? Didn't seem keen on showing his face, did he?" he added, wanting to find some way of breaking through the façade she was so quickly rebuilding.

"No," she agreed. "So, assuming it was our poet, was the poem a rouse? To get into our heads? Does that make sense?"

"Are we weaker or stronger in there?" he retorted.

She considered it.

"We don't know what's going to happen half the time, but I say welcome to the daily playing field in Sunnydale, so I don't think we're weaker. But if he knows how to move from thought to thought, he might be stronger."

"Sounds like we should cancel the next session," Willow said.

"No," Buffy replied. "For all we know he really does have someone he'll kill if we're not there to stop him... No, we'll have to get inside my head too, we stick to the plan."

"You sure?" Xander asked and she kept herself from glancing at Spike as she nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay," Willow said. "You need to eat something and we should wait a few hours. We should map out what you can remember, so that there's no confusion when you wake up next time."

"Alright," Buffy said.

"I'll get a pad and a pen."

"There are some supplies in the study," Giles said and Willow disappeared from view. "I'll make you some scrambled eggs," he then added, looking at Buffy. "With cheese?"

She smiled her agreement.

"Well, then," she sighed, meeting Spike's gaze once again.

"Well, then," he said.


	7. Means to an End

Hey, all!

Thank you so, so much for all your wonderful thoughts! I was thrilled to receive them, truly!

Kim (muaha, hard words, hon, but true, aren't they:) Mhmh... I just hope I can keep you hooked! Thanks for great comments, girl!) :), Terra (I totally agree with that. Oh, I hope so! Buffy's mind – coming up!) :) and starhawk (wonderful! Very happy to read that! And, soon that part of this journey shall begin!) :)

I am posting two chapters today; I hope there are no objections! )

All My Love – Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Means to an End¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

"Taste good?" Giles wondered and she looked up, swallowing the last bite of her eggs and putting the fork down on the plate as he grabbed it off the table.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, smiling at him and he returned it before heading into the kitchen.

"So how do you feel? You wanna rest for a while?" Willow inquired.

"Don't think I could even if I wanted to," Buffy replied, sinking back on the couch.

"Maybe you should try?"

"Did you get that pen and paper?"

Willow ignored commenting on the snubbing of her question and simply nodded, picking the items up and sitting down next to her friend.

"Where do we start?" Buffy asked.

"We need a location, so just tell me where you guys went."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. "We were in London about a hundred years ago."

"Probably not what we're looking for," Willow remarked and Buffy smiled.

"We were at the Bronze, behind the Bronze, behind my house, on the street outside my house, inside my house, in Spike's crypt... That's it, I think."

"You think, or you know?"

"No, that's it."

"We were in your room, too," Spike pointed out helpfully and she turned her head to him with an impatient expression.

"That's right, we were. Remind me what good that did you, again?"

He seemed to zip his mouth shut at that and she felt quite contented, looking back at Willow.

"The Bronze, your house, Spike's crypt," Willow summarized and Buffy nodded. "Okay, got it in blue and white. Now, let's look at some pictures."

"Of what?"

"Demons."

"Oh, joy."

"Come on. If you know what he might be supposed to look like, maybe you'll be able to force him to reveal himself."

"Force him to grow a face? Intriguing. And oh, so gross."

"Necessary," Willow corrected.

"Yes, because otherwise I won't be able to recognize his trying to kill me."

Willow merely moved from the couch to the table behind it. Buffy followed, muttering incoherently about stupid duties and useless tasks.

She watched as Willow began turning the pages of a book, which was ethereally thick, and then her gaze drifted to Spike's frame where he sat talking to Giles. What was it about that vampire? Something just got on her nerves no matter what he was doing. Like the way he was sitting. And why did he always wear that mangy coat? And why was his hair so blonde? Apparently he hadn't gotten the memo about all things eighties being too vintage to touch. Well, that meant his head was untouchable. Hah! Actually, his head was an antique, wasn't it?

_Sometimes I forget_, his voice sounded in her mind, _how young you are_.

She huffed.

"Buffy," Willow said, but there was no reaction.

The Slayer was imagining the vamp without the leather, putting him in something blue, and in a flash she remembered how he had looked in his crypt for their little tête-à-tête. And with that came the image of him naked, grinding into her, and she drew a breath as Willow's third "Buffy" finally got through.

"Present," the Slayer smiled.

"Yeah," Willow replied with a slightly wondering frown. "Here," she added, pushing the book in front of her friend.

"Whoa, ugly," Buffy said. "And you want me to make him look like that?"

Willow smiled.

"Just go through the pictures!" she said, giving Buffy a push in the side. "Spike!" she added.

"What-what are you doing?" Buffy asked, voice low.

"He should go through them with you," Willow answered matter-of-factly, waving to Spike to come join them.

"What? Why?"

"Because he's supposed to fight this thing, too," Willow answered, another questioning look appearing in her eyes and Buffy smiled, shrugging.

"Right. Or he could do it over there. Giles is good with the showing you how to turn the page and taking notes, he writes so nicely, and straight. He's a straight writer."

"That I am," Spike said, stopping at her side. "Tried to be gay once, didn't work out. I like my expressionless glare too much to jump about for joy. Or what were you discussing?"

She gave him a humorless smile before removing her gaze from him and redirecting it on the page before her.

"Sit down and look at the pictures," Willow instructed as she rose from her chair.

"Then I get a cookie?" he wondered.

"No cookies. But you might not get your head chopped off inside Buffy's... head," the Wicca answered.

"Can I get that in writing?" he asked, taking the seat with his eyes still on the Slayer.

Willow walked into the kitchen.

"Buffy..." Spike began, but she interrupted him.

"Look, let's just get this over with, okay?"

He hesitated; then nodded.

"Okay," he agreed.

¤

She washed her hands, looking at her face in the bathroom mirror. She wanted this day to be done. Drying her hands on a towel she then headed for the door, but it opened as she unlocked it and her eyes turned grave as Spike slid in through it.

"_What_ are you doing?" she asked.

"We need to talk."

"No, we really don't."

"Look, what you saw..."

"What I saw was pieces of someone who's broken into my home, who's read my diary, who's spied on me, and truth is I don't know what to make of it, but once I figure it out, the total sum won't be anything favoring you."

He stared at her. He wasn't surprised, but he was far from convinced.

"And what I feel..."

"Doesn't matter!" she said heatedly. "What you're feeling doesn't matter to me. _You_ don't matter enough to me for it to matter!"

But as she said that a surge of the pain she had caused him ran through her stomach and she looked at him, feeling pity and a subtly alarming softness.

"I'm... sorry," she mumbled. "But that's just how I feel."

"Then I'm sorry, too," he said as she walked past him and opened the door. "'Cause I don't believe anything's that simple."

¤

"You ready?" Willow asked.

Buffy looked up from the book she had in her lap. There had been no real luck finding a valid id for No Face, but it didn't unsettle her nearly as much as the prominent undertaking.

"Ready," she lied, putting the book aside as Spike sat down next to her, leaning back.

Willow had a seat on the table before them, the countdown beginning.

I have nothing to hide, Buffy thought firmly as her eyes began to glaze over, the mirror Willow once again was holding painting soft patterns of light on her skin. I have nothing to hide.


	8. Barely Ajar

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Barely Ajar¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ **

She landed, feet first, on something solid. She couldn't see what, because as it had started out within him, it was pitch black. There was a hard thud to her right.

"Ouch," she heard Spike mutter.

"Rough landing?"

"Shut up, Slayer."

She smirked.

"Wonder if there's a light switch somewhere," she mumbled, groping through the air and having her hands find worn leather.

"You're not gonna find it _there_," he pointed out.

"Sorry," she said, quickly pulling her hands to her and taking a step back.

There was a sudden flare of fire right before her and Spike ducked.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

She stared at the spot where she had just seen him, completely taken aback. Another flare appeared and he had to roll on the floor to get away from it.

"Bleeding well stop it!"

"I'm not doing it, I swear!"

"In case you failed to notice, sweetheart, the only one _able_ to do anything in here is _you_!"

"You're not getting me to not do _any_thing with that attitude."

"You're gonna sodding fry me! Is that singed hair I smell?"

Another flare appeared, this time a mere inch away from his head. He caught her gaze and held it, not moving a muscle, the fire slowly dying out. He had stayed untouched by it and she wasn't sure if it was his hardheadedness or stupidity or fearlessness which enabled him to hold his ground that way, but a small part of her was a little impressed.

A different light spread softly through the space they occupied; which showed itself in the form of a corridor, with bare walls and smooth floor and ceiling. Like a cube, expanding behind them, and before them.

"There," she now said, in regards to the fire.

He was patting his shoulder, which was smoking, giving her a dirty look.

"You know, you could feel perfectly safe inside me. I was professional enough not to bloody try anything."

"When did love turn into professionalism?" she shot, starting to walk down the wide corridor toward the room she could tell was at the end of it.

"Oh, so now you're gonna throw it in my face, is that it?" he asked, following in her footsteps.

"I'm just saying," she replied. "And I'm not _trying_ to hurt you."

"Right. Being on the defensive is a natural state with you."

"Hey," she said, furrowing her brow.

"Ohhh, better watch it. Who knows what comes next."

Something flew past his ear and smashed against the wall to his right. His eyes widened as he noticed it was a stake. Another came from behind and he managed to crouch down on all fours, avoiding it. Once he straightened himself up again it was with an accusing glare.

She met his gaze, about to say something when a brick wall appeared in front of her, parting them effectively. She frowned, placing her palms against it. It was firm, solid.

"Spike!" she yelled.

Nothing.

Dear God, I'm actually killing him, aren't I? she thought.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed. "Spike!"

"Jeez, no need to get loud, pet," he stated and she spun around.

"I thought you were being murdered by the nastier side of my brain," she remarked sourly. "Apologies for shouting."

"Would've been pretty undignified of you, wouldn't it? Offing me when I did nothing to you."

"I wouldn't say you did nothing."

"Oh?" he asked, an eyebrow rising. "And what did I do?"

She rested her eyes in his, feeling something undefined rise with the aggravation at the self-assurance in his inquisitiveness.

Another brick wall shot up; taking him out of sight as three more boxed her in. She put her arms up, trying to press out to the sides.

"Come _on_!" she yelled.

Bracing herself she kicked one leg up, her foot breaking through the red stones and making their molding crack, their structure falling apart. She stepped through the hole and looked around. More brick. Everywhere brick. She started running through the maze they made, feeling annoyance with herself build and build until she stopped, panting and looking around.

There had to be a solution to this, a thought that would trigger the disposal of them. She calmed herself, standing perfectly still, remembering all the times she had practiced with Giles on not losing focus, on being able to concentrate her energy on one single task.

All the walls began to fold themselves away, soundlessly, until only one remained. She smiled with the victory she felt, but it faded as she faced the still present wall. Placing one hand against it she could feel its cool roughness. She knew what it was, why it was there, but she couldn't have it; it wouldn't do. She could find a loophole, she just had to relax.

But the more she tried to relax, the higher and thicker the brick seemed to stack itself and soon she was nothing but irritated with it all.

"Alright," she said as her frustration mounted. "Just _stop_!"

At the last word she was about to pound a fist on the structure, only the structure disappeared and she stumbled forward, into the arms of Spike. He helped her find her balance and she looked up at him as she straightened her back, her hands on his upper arms; the steadiness of his frame against her chest.

"Gonna let me in this time, pet?" he asked, his gaze searching hers and she took a step away from him, bringing herself out of his hold as she let go of him.

The light around them faded until only darkeness once more remained.

"Great," she sighed.

"Hope it wasn't something I said."

"Shut up, Spike."

He smirked.

She knew it wasn't what it seemed. She just had to find the reason why she was in this particular shadow of her mind.

"Oh," she said as there was the smallest showing of light, looking like it was coming through a tiny hole put in the gloom around them.

She approached it and once she reached it she stopped in front of it, observing it for a long moment.

"What is it?" Spike wondered.

"It's..." Buffy began, but then tiny holes appeared all around them and below them and above them and he realized what they all were as the view seemed to explode outward and the softly glowing holes turned to round dots which were floating midair, the Vamp and Slayer floating with them.

"Dawn," he filled in Buffy's sentence, the small speck of light they had seen before beginning to grow, as it was actually drifting closer. "Is this a memory?"

"A dream," she answered, smiling with melancholy as the ball of energy slowly past them. "She was beautiful. She still is."

"Buffy, Buffy, look what I made!"

She turned her head, and it was as though a black and white snapshot embraced her, making her a part of it. She knew Spike was right behind her as she watched the image of her little sister, five years old and glowing with pride. The only thing was that the memory wasn't real, and here, in this part of her brain, she knew it. The images were dim and fractured and she wanted to cry.

"Dawnie," she smiled. "It's beautiful."

"I made it for you, you know."

"You didn't!"

"Did too!"

"I'll put it right here, okay?"

"Okay."

She bent down for a kiss and got one on the cheek before Dawn skipped out of the room.

"Mommie!"

It was a few years later. She remembered this fight! But it was no more real than the previous one.

"Mommie, Buffy says _I_ have to stay at home when _she_ goes to the park just 'cause she's gonna meet _Susan_ there and it's not fair 'cause I wanna go too..."

"Slow down, honey," Joyce said.

"Mom, don't make me take her. Please!" Buffy exclaimed; once again a part of the scene while Spike stood to the side, observing it. "I'll die. I'll flat out lie down and die."

"Buffy, don't be a drama queen, it's not attractive. Dawn, you and I can go to the park tomorrow."

"But, _mommie_!"

"Thanks, mom," Buffy smiled, grabbing an apple and giving Dawn a triumphant look before heading out of the kitchen.

"Help, help!"

The scenery changed into a bedroom, where a noticeable lump was cowering under the covers of the bed. Buffy ran forward, pausing with fists on hips as she said:

"Don't worry, Flame, I'm here to save you!"

And then she pulled the covers off Dawn, who giggled as she started to tickle her. She wrapped her arms around her and Dawn hugged her back.

"I promise I'll always save you," Buffy said, kissing the younger on the forehead and Dawn smiled brightly.

Spike watched them, feeling Buffy's sadness like bars all around him. He understood that she mourned the fact that this had, in reality, never taken place; but he could feel her very real love for her sister, and the constant worry she was under for her safety. It wasn't until now that he began to understand what he was actually doing, how he was making his consciousness a part of hers and through that experiencing all of her. It was thrilling and terrifying. He had a picture of her in his head, and he had to wonder if it was about to be ripped to bits.

They were brought into a room with dark blue walls, completely lacking in furniture. As her eyes met his, a white pattern carefully started to draw itself in bold, continually flowing strokes all around them.

"Is this a safe place?" she asked.

"No place is safe," he answered.

"So what are we doing?"

In a second they were switched into a large gymnasium. The seats were filled with cheering people. Buffy found herself at the foot of them, staring at a sight she had absolutely not foreseen.

"Aaaaaalright!" the cheerleading squad yelled, placing their pompoms together. "We're here to be loud, to win over the crowd, to show you who's the best, who flunks out all the rest!"

Spike felt his jaw drop as he saw the perky young Buffy, jumping and shouting with the rest of the beautified girls.

"My, my, my," he mumbled, the head of the Buffy at his side whipping around to him and he looked innocent. "All I'm saying is you could always kick high, couldn't you?"

"Not another word," she warned, turning from him again. However, she was unable to keep quiet as she added: "It was a lot of fun and very building of character and athletic. You won't see a regular student doing splits or handstands or... Oh, shush."

"Won't exactly see a regular student beat up a chap twice her size, either," he said.

"No," she agreed, smiling briefly. "Guess you won't."

"Now give a great big shout, to the boys who turn it out!" the squad finished.

The masses went wild as the basketball team ran onto the court.

Buffy looked at herself. So young, so ignorant. So Just-a-Few-Years-Ago.

"Excuse me."

She turned around to see Spike kneeling down to get his face at the same height as the even younger version of her. She was standing and waiting patiently for him to get into a position to speak with her.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

Their surroundings faded into the backyard of her old house in Los Angeles. It was evening, and the air felt like spring time.

"I was wondering if you'd seen my cat."

"Oh, Freckles," Buffy said. "I haven't thought about her in ages."

"Sorry, love," Spike replied the little versioned Slayer, "haven't seen her."

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure you can."

"What're you doing in our backyard?"

He had to smile.

"You think there's something wrong with my being here?"

"Well, yeah."

"So why are you talking to me?"

"'Cause I wanna find Freckles! Besides, my friend Daniel says I can kick really hard."

"I bet you can," he smiled. "I'll have to watch myself, yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "How come your hair's so white?"

He glanced at the grown Buffy, who didn't really know where she should look.

"Because it's supposed to be. It's a thing."

Buffy huffed and he looked at her again, making her turn her eyes casually to the sky.

The younger Buffy reached out a hand and touched his cheek, making him focus back on her.

"How come you're so cold?"

"Someday you'll know," he promised.

There was a meow from under a bush and a red-speckled cat came running across the grass.

"Freckles!" she exclaimed, the namesake stopping at her feet and beginning to thoroughly stroke itself against her legs. "Hi, sweets. Miss me, huh?" she smiled, scratching the cat lovingly behind the ears.

Then she reached forward and put her arms around the vampire in a hard hug. He was surprised at the earnestness of that touch, of her head on his shoulder and her featherweight leaning against him before she pulled away again.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "Felt like you needed it. See ya!"

He watched her as she ran up the porch steps and in through the kitchen door, Freckles following in her wake.

"'S that what you were like when you were a kid?"

"Pretty much."

"Hmh," he said, standing up and turning to her. "Tragic change."

She gave him a look and walked across the lawn, heading for the street.

"How innocent would you be if you'd spent four years slaying vampires and demons and trying to stay sane while your whole life just seems completely decided for you and you know that all those dreams you had growing up are not going to come true 'cause you'll most probably be dead by twenty-five!"

He had been following her, now he paused his step, blinking, but got himself moving in the next instant.

"I guess all that stuff might be true," he said, making her stop. "But I don't believe it. You're tough, Slayer, but you're not stone. And, you know, a dream can be realized in a day, if you want it bad enough. And the dying thing... not so bad."

She kept a straight face for a long moment, then smiled a small smile.

"But I won't have the coming-back _thing_ going for me," she remarked.

"Buffy, you're a bloody warrior. You're not gonna die."

They were in the alley behind the Bronze in the next blink, her eyes in his and it was the first time they met.

"What happens Saturday?"

"I kill you."

The arrogance. The total knowledge that he simply would. It had rubbed her the wrong way in _many_ ways. In making her afraid. In catching her and staying with her. In waking defiance and want to make him see her as a more difficult mark.

Now he didn't walk away, as he so coolly had that night, but kept observing her.

"You almost did," she now said.

"Yeah, couple of times," he agreed; then his eyes widened and he grabbed her, pushing her to the side before kicking a leg out and hitting No Face in the chest.

The demon didn't budge more then half a step and at the same time he punched Spike across the chin, making the vampire join Buffy, who was pressed against the wall behind him.

"Jesus, what's he made of?" he said.

"Try asking him," Buffy replied, ducking as the demon swung his large fist at her head.

She jabbed him harshly in the side four times, kicking up a knee in his stomach and being able to shove him back far enough for her to face him. She concluded she was stronger in her own skull than she had been in Spike's, a fact which perked her up considerably.

"Come on," she said. "You'll have to do much better than that."

No Face moved forward with a speed she hadn't anticipated, but a steel pipe, courtesy of Spike, hit him in the throat and stopped the attack.

"Let's go," Spike said and Buffy gave him a disbelieving look. "Slayer, let's go."

"I'm not running away."

"You did it before."

"I can take him!"

"We don't have time to bloody argue!" he exclaimed, pulling her to him and then lifting her, throwing her over one shoulder before he began to run.

"Put me down, you overgrown, bleached mongrel; you can't do this to me in here!"

As soon as she said it they were parted, the scenery changed into his crypt and she was standing by the door, he was by the armchair, both were slightly shaken by the suddenness of the switch.

A warm wind moved past Buffy at the door and the candles standing everywhere began to light themselves.

"Is this a safe place?" she asked.

"No place is safe," he replied.

"So what're we doing?" she wondered.

She turned and walked out through the door. He hesitated, then walked across the room and followed her. He stepped into the mansion he had shared with Drusilla and Angelus, when the trio had been united for such a short period in Sunnydale. It was desolate, but furnished. The fireplace looked used. He spotted Buffy as she walked to a doorway and came to a slow stop.

"What I want from you I can never have," she said and he saw Angel beyond her.

She backed away, coming back into the room and stopping by the couch.

Angel came out through the doorway and Spike felt himself tense. The other vampire walked in Buffy's footsteps and stopped right behind her, reaching out a hand and softly placing it on her shoulder. Tears had formed in her eyes and slowly slid down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Angel murmured.

"Don't go."

"I have to."

There was a soft pause and then she mumbled:

"I know."

She turned around and met the kiss she knew had been waiting for her, returning it as she kissed him deeply and wanting to hold onto him hard enough, long enough to make him change his mind. Placing her cheek against his chest she vowed to do nothing less than that.

"Don't cry," he said.

"No, you're better off with the poof gone, believe me."

She checked herself, moving her head to look at the younger vampire.

"It's true, innit? Look at him. You call _me_ overgrown? He's all broad and tall and have you seen the expanse of his forehead?"

"You are just not a welcomed little addition to this, are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, bringing down the mood?"

"The mood's already down."

"When really you should be celebrating."

"Can you lasso the jealousy for a minute or so?"

"'Lasso'?"

"Well, good, now he's already gone."

And Angel was. Gone.

"Good riddance," Spike huffed.

"Hey! Can you _not_ get in the middle of this?"

"Of _what_! _We're_ the only ones here. You want to rant to yourself? Go ahead!"

"Sometimes you make me so angry I could slap you. Or kick you. Really, really hard!"

"I know you've got the power to back it up! Don't hold back on account of the chip. I'm pretty sure it's non-existent in here!"

"I don't wanna hurt you _right now_; all I want _right now_ is for you to _disappear_!"

And with those words her wish was granted. The space he had occupied was left vacant as he vanished from sight. She put a hand by her mouth, feeling guilt swiftly rise to color her insides bright pink.

"Oh...crap."


	9. Brittle Walls

Hello my darlings!

I would like to state that these following chapters are late and that I didn't plan for them to be so. A laptop – convenient. A moment's peace – extraordinary. Your patience – priceless. So I thank you. :)

Caro Mio Kim (my dear, I completely agree with you. And oh, how that warms, how that warms! I'm more than pleased I cracked you up! Lovely! clapping hands) :), Terra (I aim to please. :) And good. Good. Good, good, good.) :)

Ari (darling! I'm sorry if you took it the wrong way what I wrote. I don't mean to defend Spike either. I mean, I GET why Buffy is the way she is! Well, most of the time I do, but yes, sometimes I do want to strangle her for not just giving him one tiny speck of a bloody break! huffhuff Sorry, as I was saying, he is evil, he is bad, he is terrible. I get that, and I see why she would be convinced of it. But... There always is a but. At least in this context for me. I'm not trying to convert you out of siding with Buffy. And I am not trying to do nothing but praise Spike's pretty sides without acknowledging the dark in him. Anyways, dunno if you really care, just wanted you to see that I meant no disrespect toward you when I tried to explain where I was coming from. Very glad you're coming back to read more. Really didn't mean for it to sound as though I didn't think you would. Just really didn't want it to sound like I took it for granted, get me? Alright, hope you'll like the following!) :)

and starhawk (thanks a lot for those words! Wunderbar to read them! Hope you'll still like!) :)

Whatever lies up ahead I do hope you'll enjoy it!

All My Love,

Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Brittle Walls¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

Spike watched the figure moving gracefully across the ice. She glided with ease and precision, and she was beautiful, no denying it. He hadn't known she was that skilled. He had seen a picture of her skating, but this was far beyond any expectations he could have had. She wasn't older than fourteen. She did a pirouette and then came up to where he was standing by the side of the rink.

"Hi," she said.

"Looking good out there," he complimented.

"Thanks. I'm out of practice, though."

"Swinging the pompoms taking up all your spare time?"

She laughed.

"Something like it. Why don't you join me?"

"No, no," he shook his head. "Can't skate to save my life, if you'll pardon the expression."

She smiled brightly.

"I'll teach you. Come on."

"Buffy. No."

"You're not scared of falling, are you? I promise it only..."

"...hurts for a second," the sentence was finished by a different voice as the scene switched to a sterile hospital room, where Buffy was in a bed while two orderlies were struggling to hold her down. "Buffy, please, keep still!" a female doctor said and Spike concluded it was she who had spoken before.

She was holding a needle in one hand as she tried to grab Buffy's arm.

"I'm _not_ tired! I don't _wanna_ sleep!" Buffy exclaimed, pushing the orderlies off her harshly, flicking a hand out so that the needle flew through the air and landed with a metallic clank on the floor by the foot of the bed.

"Leave her," the doctor put up a hand as the orderlies were about to give it another go. "I'll try when her mother comes. She's always calmer then."

"They think I'm crazy, you know," Buffy said as the three began to leave the room, turning her gaze in Spike's. "Quick, go all gnarly and show them! Tell them they have to let me out of here. I didn't imagine it."

He took a step closer, feeling his forehead furrow with concern and wonder, but she only smiled weakly before turning her gaze out of his. She was so pale. She looked ill.

"Where would you go, if you could choose?" he asked silently. "Show it to me."

Trees painted themselves up all around him, green and lush. He could hear the trickle of water. Grass was beneath his feet and soft sunlight sifted through branches. He recognized this place. Once he took a few steps forward he realized why that was. He was inside a favorite painting of his – Monet's "Water Garden". Before him was the surface of the famous pond, which glittered with the help of white and yellow paint. There was the touch of real in it, a branch which felt right, and the grass felt like grass, but it was all brush strokes.

She was sitting on the Japanese bridge and looked up when he approached her. She was wearing a white dress, her hair was let out to spill over her shoulders, and he wanted to stay there forever. She seemed so at peace.

She got to her feet as he stopped before her.

"I always wanted to paint like this," she said. "I can't even draw stick figures."

"I think you're exaggerating."

"I think you're right."

He smiled and she did as well.

"I like it here," she stated.

"Me too," he agreed.

"But we can't stay here forever."

He met her gaze and she smiled slightly again.

"Remind me to come here more often," she said. "I fret too much."

With that she placed her hands on his shoulders and turned him around quickly, the movement bringing him back to the mansion. His eyes met Buffy's just as she opened hers and her whole face lit up with clear relief and building triumph.

She wasn't even sure why she should be so happy to see him, but she was.

"It worked!" she exclaimed.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "But you're here! I wanted you here and now you're here!"

"Brilliant! Bring out the serpentines and the cake and we'll have a welcome back party!"

She scowled at his sarcasm, growing irritated in a moment. She stood still for a brief second, seemingly contemplating her options, but then headed for the exit. He raised his eyebrows, mostly to himself, asking himself silently if he couldn't at least try to not tick her off, though he did it so well. Then he followed her, stopping at her side where she stood at the edge of the steep hill leading down toward Sunnydale, her eyes on the twinkling lights of their city.

"Didn't know you liked it so rough, Slayer," he said before he could possibly manage to bite his tongue, and there was a pause before she slowly turned her head to him. "I mean; the whip I can kinda understand... But chains? Kinky."

"Excuse me?"

"I get it, though. The control and all that. And why not? Find someone willing..."

"I am _not_..."

"Before you kick me really, really hard, love," he stopped her as she took a step closer, both of his hands up in a calming manner, "I'm only kidding."

"Yeah, that seldom works for you, does it?"

"I did walk through a painting, though."

"And here I thought you were disintegrating in my head."

"You told me to tell you to go there more often," he said and she glanced at him.

"I've no idea why I'm using you as messenger," she stated, about to take a step forward when she halted herself as she looked down at nothing but thick mist and couldn't see where to put her feet anymore.

Sunnydale was out of sight, and then there was a rumble from somewhere deep down below them. Suddenly the ground shook and they reached for each other without thinking, using the other to keep their balance, grabbing hold of the other's arms as their eyes locked.

Buffy didn't know what was going on. Jeez, _how_ could she not know when it was going on inside her own head! Her pulse was racing and it jumped into another rhythm altogether when the mansion – with a shattering, crackling noise – began to split in two. She stared at it, her eyes widening as it, after the third numbing quake, imploded with a loud crash; stone grinding stone. She drew a barely detectible breath when a colossal part of it then saw fit to break loose and, in what seemed like slow motion, began to roll toward the two beings at the foot of its ruined fortress.

"What now!" Spike yelled.

Buffy looked at the stone, then at the mist, and then back at him.

"We jump!"

He gave a nod and they turned at the same time, taking a step out and beginning to fall through the thickness of clouds upon clouds. The sensation was nothing but ultimate liberation and Buffy didn't want it to end. But they broke through, the air clearing, and she took a deep breath when all she could see below her was steel gray waves. She hit them shoulder first, sinking below them. Opening her eyes she found the water didn't sting them. She turned herself around to find Spike. He was there, looking surprised; raising his eyebrows he put his arms out in an And-What-Now?

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, but then she noticed a dark shadow behind him.

All he registered was the stricken expression on her face before she swam up to him, put her hands, and then her feet on his shoulders and kicked him down as she swam up. He was just about to get quite angry with her when he looked up and saw the large shape of a shark shoot past above his head.

Bloody.

Hell.

Buffy caught his gaze, signing for him to swim with her for the surface. He signed to the shark – which was doing a large turn to come back at them – indicating his questioning her sanity. She gave him a look, and he would have thought it should have less of a point under water, but it still carried, and he followed her as she started the ascent. He tried not to think of "Jaws", but the music began to play in his mind and he felt fear tear through him. It didn't matter that he didn't need to breathe, it didn't matter that he could swim the entire ocean without breaking a sweat, those sharp teeth were everything other than his was and he didn't want them anywhere near his flesh. Or hers.

Think us to a better place! he tried to encourage her. Any other place than this would be _good_!

Buffy saw something glint above and knew that if they could have just one more second...

She felt her face break the surface and Spike was right beside her as they both stood up, their feet in ankle deep water. They were standing in a fountain. It was obvious that it was situated in a quaint square somewhere in Italy. Or was it France?

"Make up your mind," Spike said, looking down and jumping up on the fountain's ledge when he saw something moving in the water.

Buffy smirked.

"They're goldfish," she remarked, bringing one of the white water lilies aside and showing him. "See?"

"So they're goldfish," he shrugged, reaching out a hand to her and she took it without thinking, stepping up on the ledge to stand next to him, finding her balance with a smile, her eyes meeting his.

She felt different here, in this place. She felt far away from the Slayer, and looking at him without the veil of suspicion made the shades of his face lighter and what she read in his eyes all the more palpable. Like it was made more real, somehow, out of the context of reality.

"Sorry about the shark," she now apologized. "Don't know where that came from."

He smiled as well. She took her hand out of his, jumping down on the cobblestones and looking around. They were still dripping wet, but neither really cared.

"Italy, huh?" he asked.

"I've always wanted to go," she nodded.

He seemed skeptical as he took in the quiet piazza and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?"

"It's very..."

He trailed off.

"_What_?"

"Where are all the people? The noise? Not the American definition of noise, but this is just... dead, is what it is."

Doors began to open and through them came children, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers and everything in between. They grew into a myriad of the happy-go-happy population, milling about with leisurely familiarity. Buffy looked mighty pleased.

"Better?" she asked.

"I suppose, yeah," he admitted, gripping the tight T he was wearing between two fingers, pulling at the cloth meaningfully as he asked: "Now, what the hell am I wearing?"

The T was decorated with red and white stripes and he was in marine blue pants, having a red scarf tied around his neck.

"Oh, that," Buffy said, keeping down a smirk with an enormous amount of effort. "Don't worry. Stripes suit you."

She realized they were both dry, looking down at herself she couldn't hold back the smile any longer. She was in a red and white dress, very Mary Poppinsesque – all she was really missing was the umbrella to go with it.

"Please, don't make us break into song," Spike murmured and her smile broadened slightly.

"Someplace like this is where I'd go, if I could," she said, beginning to walk forward and he followed.

"There are no places like these left. Trust me. If there ever were any," he stated.

"Don't say that."

"I take it back."

She looked at him, growing serious at the earnestness with which he retracted his sentiments. She didn't know how to view him now. Everything was obscured, out of focus.

She didn't say anything else as they continued out of the piazza and down an alley which brought them into a desert. It lay stretched out before them in the redness of dawn. Buffy stepped into the sand, her bare feet digging into the silkiness of the tiny grains. Spike followed, his duster falling from his shoulders once more, the dream of Italy fading like a mirage behind them.

She turned to him, the sun, red and glorious, beginning to show beyond the horizon. Soon he heard the soft sizzle as its heat made sand into glass. He rested his gaze in hers. The expression on her face was severe.

"Look at them," she said.

He clenched his jaws together.

Why was she doing this?

"No," he replied.

She hesitated, then took a small step closer, having to tilt her head ever so slightly to look into his eyes.

"Spike, look at them."

He didn't say anything, but kept his gaze stubbornly in hers, feeling as though his heart was tearing itself apart at the way she was so closely observing him. And yet he couldn't oblige her.

And she could see it on him; taking a step back she looked disappointed.

"How could I ever trust you?" she asked silently. "You've no conscience. There's no remorse. No need for it."

She took another step away, and then turned around, beginning to walk away from him. The wind caught the thin fabric of the blue dress she was now wearing, pulling it and tugging it, making it hug her petite form and he felt an explosion of yearning within him to be able to shelter her.

But he couldn't bring himself to look down for anything. Not even for her.

She didn't know what to make of it, make of him. His love for her was like a pulsating, pounding entity twirling around in places within her she didn't want to acknowledge; but it was there now. And so was a tentative need she had sensed in him, a soft promise he had given, that he would try to change. That the transformation had already begun. And yet she didn't believe that it wasn't going to switch direction any minute. She couldn't. She stayed unconvinced.

The sun had breached the ridge, but it grew black, its fire cooling itself into non-existence. The sunrise died and the colors disappeared, leaving way for just as black a moon on the opposite side of the sky, while stars began to twinkle into sight. The glass beneath her feet turned back into sand and she stopped walking, her arms wrapped around her. The wind stilled.

She could feel him. He was right behind her. But he said nothing, and she didn't know what to say any more than he did.

He almost placed a hand on her shoulder, wanting her to look at him, to try to understand him, but he stopped half way, letting his arm fall back along his side.

A room was shoved forth to surround them, a couch appearing and sliding to make them bend their knees and sit side by side in it. A TV popped up in front of them and its screen began to move with the milling of people. Buffy leaned back, remote in hand.

"Look at them," she muttered. Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Walking around thinking they're safe. Everything's fine. Wake up, get dressed, go live a life that isn't their own to save. And do they know who saves it? No. Safe. Bah humbug."

Spike smiled a little.

"See that?" a different Buffy asked at his other side and he turned his head to her. "See how free they are? To make mistakes, and waste all their money, and travel and go anywhere they want."

"You _chose_ Sunnydale," a third Buffy remarked, seated in an armchair. "You could've moved. Could've gone anywhere but here, and still you wanted to stay close. So don't start up with the feeling sorry for yourself."

"And sometimes they don't even seem to see me work my ass off to save them," the first Buffy scoffed. "The tears get in the way, or whatever. Running away all scared to death, without so much as a thank you."

"Oh, come on. That's happened, what, three times in three years?" the third Buffy retorted and the first glared at her, then turned her eyes back on the TV.

"Selfish is what they are. And sometimes I pity them, other times I just..."

She glanced at the remote, then lifted it and shut the TV off. It went black, the whole contraption shrinking out of sight.

"What did you do now?" the second Buffy commented, leaning forward as Spike obstructed her view of the first. "You can't do that, you know that."

"What if I could? What if I could just decide that I didn't want to watch that particular channel anymore? What if I want to watch Animal Planet or Discovery or HBO or maybe I'd even want to see a movie _without_ violence in it once in a while. Would that be so bad?"

"So you switch the channel. You don't just turn it off," the third Buffy remarked.

"Fine, I'm clearly outnumbered, so here," the first Buffy muttered, throwing the remote to the third. "Choose."

The TV appeared again and the third Buffy aimed the remote, the screen blinking to life with more people.

"_Why_ did I give it to _you_?" the first Buffy grumbled, crossing her arms sullenly over her chest.

"I like them," the second Buffy stated with a smile. "There's never the same face."

But then the TV was gone, and in its stead stood a large sofa, containing Joyce, Dawn, Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Tara.

"Except those," the first Buffy said.

"They're all here," the second Buffy nodded happily.

Then all three Buffy's heads turned to Spike.

The silence was absolute.

He realized he had vamped out without noticing it. The stares of the Slayers grew prodding. He felt completely put on the spot and wasn't sure how he could rectify the situation.

"You can't," the first Buffy stated and he looked at her. "That's the whole point of this, isn't it? Teaching me what I already know. That you can't salvage what has been damaged, the way you've damaged me."

"Don't say that," he mumbled.

"I have no place in your head," she went on. "You have no place in my heart."

"Buffy..."

"So what are you doing letting me in?" she asked. "What am I doing?"

He was seated on a bed, the walls of her room appearing with loud snaps around him. She was in front of a full-figure mirror, observing her reflection. Her hands slid over her stomach, pulling the fabric of the top she was wearing into an even snugger fashion. She shifted her head slowly from side to side, eyeing her jaw line, her neckline, bringing her hair into a pony tail and then shaking it out to spill over her shoulders. She made a face, then suddenly smiled, shaking her head at herself.

"He'll have to like you as you are," she said with a shrug. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

She glanced at herself in the mirror again, a look of slight insecurity coming over her features.

"Just don't babble about uninteresting things," she told herself. "And don't say whatever comes into your head. And don't run off to save someone without giving him your phone number, or at least telling him to excuse you. Actually, don't run off at all. No. No running off."

She smiled a little again; then turned to face Spike.

"Here," she said, tossing him the brush she had been holding.

It turned into an egg on the way to his hands, and he caught it as the room drew itself into a kitchen.

She was wearing an apron, her hair in a ponytail, and she was a flurry of sheer activity. Measuring cocoa she stirred a pot on the stove at the same time. He held up the egg.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked.

"Crack it into that bowl over there," she said with a smile, bringing the pot from the stove and stirring in the cocoa as she put it down on the counter, coming to stand next to him.

"Okay," he murmured, doing what she asked after some short hesitation.

She smirked, handing him a wooden spoon.

"Mix," she directed and he mirrored her expression before he began stirring the batter.

Looking into the bowl he could discern flour, sugar and now the egg, and she happily added the cocoa and what turned out to be melted butter.

"What are we making?" he wondered.

"Something good," she replied, moving in closer to him and he looked down at her as she reached out and gently took the spoon from him.

She turned her eyes in his, smiling a little.

"Is the light off?"

"Hmh?"

"The oven. Is it hot?"

"Very," he said, eyes not leaving hers and his eyebrows rising suggestively; she gave him a push with one elbow.

She put their creation into a pan and brought it over to the oven. Once it was inside she shut the door and turned back to him.

"Thirty minutes and then it's done," she declared.

"Thirty minutes? How should we pass the time, you think?"

"I don't know... what'd _you_ think?"

It was a strange feeling coming out of the state of mind which had grabbed her up until this moment, where it was as though she was in a lucid dream, her thoughts prefaced in her head, her actions deliberate and somehow guided by another force than her own choice. Now it slowly ebbed away and she was left with herself, and emotions she didn't know how to deal with, aroused by the things his eyes told her. A slow ache, and a longing that didn't fit inside her, and yet its awakening had begun the first time his lips touched hers, and now she didn't know of any lullaby to sooth its blinking, inquisitive gaze. Its curiosity was of a new kind, and what followed was this longing...

"I don't know," he now said, staring at her, hearing her heart beat, everywhere around him, it seemed. "What'd you think?" he murmured, taking a step forward when there was a loud and resounding 'ding' and it worked to bring Buffy out of wherever she had gone.

"It's done!" she smiled, swirling around and bending down, opening the oven.

"That was no half hour, love," he remarked as she brought the chocolate cake out.

"Yes, it was," she disagreed matter-of-factly, placing the pan on the counter and grabbing a knife.

"Shouldn't it cool?"

"It's cool," she replied, placing a hand on top of it for underlining.

Cutting it into squares she licked her lips, almost tasting it already, and then she grabbed a pinch of the moist cake, bringing it up.

"Try it," she encouraged, her eyes meeting his, and the next second she realized what she was actually doing; only it was too late, and his lips parted, the softness of his tongue against her fingertips acting as a most tantalizing prelude to the scrape of his teeth as he took the bite. She swallowed, feeling her body arch unconsciously towards him. "Good?" she finally asked and he nodded.

Only, then they were nowhere near each other as the scenery changed. Between them lay a deep canyon and though the space separating them wasn't overwhelming, it still served its purpose, dividing them. He was bathed in moonlight, she in the brightness of the sun. But suddenly it switched and the cold which surrounded her made her shudder, and she brought her arms around herself against it. He, on the other hand, was slowly beginning to glow. His hands began to turn to ash. She stared at him, his eyes begging her for understanding. The process reached his neck and she felt like yelling something, but she was paralyzed with the shock of bearing witness to such an unfamiliar thought of him not being.

She was ridding herself of him with this one final thought, and she couldn't decide.

Could she ever grant him any sort of understanding?


	10. Blighting Imperfections

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ Blighting Imperfections ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

The next moment she realized she already had, that she understood him better than she actually cared to; that she knew what drove him, and what had driven him to become what was now being wiped away before her eyes.

"No," she finally got word over tongue.

With that one word she was back in the kitchen, her fingers mere millimeters from his mouth as they had been brought back to the moment of their severance.

He stared at her, his whole body prickling itself back into feeling and he had to wonder why she hadn't completed what he had felt she had set out to do. Why was it that they couldn't destroy each other, no matter how much they may want it from time to time? His eyes traveled from hers to her lips and he knew what kept stopping him, how he'd go mad if he lost her. Even now, at the utter knowledge, a part of him revolted against the truth of it; but he had to embrace it for what it was, because he knew he would never rid himself of it. No matter how much simpler things had been before.

She didn't want him to look at her like that. Every time he did it seemed like something took away her ability to think clearly. She felt his expression reflect itself within her and the yearning she could see on him began to build much too rapidly throughout her. Why was this happening?

"Why are you here?"

He raised his eyebrows, the sounds of the Bronze slowly rising to its normal hype as the club shimmered into view around him. He tilted his head to the side as took in the black dress she was wearing.

She looked tantalizingly hot.

"Wow," he said. "That dress is..."

"_What_ are you doing here?" she repeated impatiently.

"I just thought..."

"Clearly, you didn't," she stopped him. "Go away."

He wasn't sure what was going on, but he did know that he didn't remember this. And he was positive he would have remembered That Dress. But he let go and simply went with it, his actions clearly not needing his participation with controlling them.

He put the beer he had in one hand down on a nearby table, her eyes not leaving his form.

"If you dance with me," he said as a response to her previous demand, her eyebrows rising slightly.

"I don't think so," she shook her head, turning to walk away when he put a hand at the small of her back, ushering her forward.

They reached the dance floor and she looked pissed when she turned to face him. She felt pissed. Actually she felt angrier with him than she had in a long time, and though she had a baffling sense of where this was going and why her mind was playing her this scene, she could do nothing to stop it. She was swept up in it, and no second thought was about to enter her head.

He put his hands up in a reconciling manner, smiling slightly. She glared at him as he began to move to the slow rhythm of the music, coming steadily closer, diminishing the already limited space separating them. She hesitated, still angry, but then she finally had to comply, softly letting her body get caught by the sensual beat, raising her head as she stepped into him.

Her eyes began to expel the irritation, and carefully a new expression took over. It went straight into him; the seductiveness of her lowered lashes, the glint of increasing want in her gaze. He swallowed hard as her hands slid up his chest before going around him, her body warm against his. His fingers trailed her bare arms and her eyes closed, making him stare at her unabashed. He moved his hands down her back, sliding them over her hips and down her thighs before bringing them under the hem of the short skirt of the dress, grabbing her ass and making her open her eyes again with a slight intake of breath.

She wanted to stop herself, and yet there was no way. It was like she was inside her body, feeling everything without having the slightest say in which emotion to act on. Right now the most forward of those seemed quite evident.

Her hands moved to the front of his T, pulling at it and exposing his pale skin before she leaned forward and licked her way in an excruciatingly slow manner to his left nipple. He jerked when her teeth followed her lips and she brought her head up with a small smile, her hips grinding into him as she caught his lower lip with hers, suckling on it before biting it as well.

He frowned as she pulled away, her smile lingering.

"What was that you said?" she murmured. "About my dark side coming out to play?"

He stared at her, the sound of her pulse taking over his mind, as his eyes traveled to the side of her throat.

"You want it?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said; voice low.

Her smile widened just a tad.

But then she was in her own bed, her hand going to the side of her throat as she sat up, her eyes landing on Spike where he stood in the moonlight. She had no clue as to why her hand was where it was, she only felt a great relief that all she touched was smooth skin. She furrowed her brow as she observed the vampire.

"Why did you have to tell me?" she asked silently. "Couldn't you have left it alone?"

"You deserved the truth," he replied, his head still trying to understand the shift which had taken place and his loins struggling to quiet down after what she had so recently been afflicting them with.

"Please," she now said. "You ratted on Riley to break us up, don't try and act all noble about it."

He smiled slightly at that, but grew serious.

"You'd rather still have him here, a vamp attached to each arm?" he asked.

"He was a good guy."

"Really? Did he even give you an explanation for his late night excursions?"

"He said he couldn't reach me."

"And you know that's not true."

She was silent long enough for Spike to raise his eyebrows in wonderment.

"I tried to stop him from leaving," she stated, almost defiantly. "Given the choice, yeah, I'd want him here."

"Really?" he repeated, actually quite taken aback. "Wane him off the addiction to having the life sucked out of him? Build a cute little cottage for two?"

"Could you just not?"

"No, I can't just not. I've a personal bloody interest in this. In how you'd picture your life with that blob of meat."

She eyed him for a moment.

"Jealous?" she then asked.

He huffed.

"It'd take a lot more than Captain sodding Cardboard to make me jealous," he replied.

"I miss him," she said, unable not to. "Especially at night. God, he was a fabulous lover. Of course, you already know I think that."

His eyes had turned harsh. Her mouth was curled in a slight smirk, her gaze challenging in a way he'd never seen them before. And then he was next to her, naked on the bed, his mouth closing around one of her already hard nipples as his hand slid over her stomach, into the soft curls between her legs, which parted as she arched her back, his fingers finding the small bud they were looking for and she moaned.

She raised her head when the touch, the next instant, disappeared.

She was fully clothed, lying on the ground. She sat up with a jerk. She could still feel him near her and she scrambled to her feet, looking around, but not spotting him anywhere. She felt unsatisfied and it staggered her to think that the soft pounding still remaining had been so swiftly produced by someone she shouldn't stand the sight of.

Couldn't stand the site of.

_Can't_ stand.

What is _happening_ to me? she thought.

She placed a hand by her heart, where the emotions she had felt him feel seemed to have gathered like a softly aching lump.

"He got away," Spike's voice sounded behind her and she turned around as he came jogging up to her. "I tried to stop him. Yelled 'stop' a few times. Didn't work. Bloody fast little critter that one. 'Course he had eight legs. You alright?"

She stared at him.

It wasn't Spike, it was a memory.

"You said 'yes'," Spike stated at her side and she turned her head to him where he was observing his image. "Then you sent me on my merry way, like you always do. Such a pleasure being in your company. Always manage to make me feel welcome."

"Can you blame me for how I feel?" she shot. "Not wanting you around is a smart thing, in my book. Or was... Or, I don't know!" she exclaimed at the softening of questions in his gaze. "You've made damn sure to let me know just how evil you are. I'm under the impression you like the label, that you're quite comfortable with it, so don't come and think you can just screw things up."

"Wasn't going to."

"But you are!"

"_You_ started it," he remarked and she glared at him, then a smile appeared on her mouth without her knowing where it came from.

He returned it tentatively and she looked away from him.

"I don't know how to feel," she mumbled.

"Don't try so hard," he said and she met his gaze again. "You know I'm not asking anything of you, right? I bloody well didn't know it'd get this... revealed, all of it. And sure," he continued, beginning to walk. She followed. "I do want you," he said, gaze honest, open. She observed him. "But it's not that I expect you to want me around. I don't."

He wasn't sure where these words were coming from, but he felt as though he meant them, and it was a strange thing.

She was about to open her mouth and say something as response when his clothes suddenly disappeared and he was completely naked, still walking with his back to her, as though nothing had happened. She realized he hadn't noticed. Taking in his ass she licked her lips, then gave herself a mental slap and brought herself out of it. He stopped and was about to turn to her, still speaking. Her eyes widened.

Oh, God!

The first thing which popped into her head was her swinging her pompoms and suddenly he was wearing her cheerleading outfit. Her eyes grew even larger, but she turned them quickly in his as he asked:

"Know what I mean?"

She nodded, guiltily having no clue as to what he had been talking about.

He started walking again and she once more followed, desperately trying to think of anything which didn't look as funny. She bit back the laughter and the outfit switched into plain blue jeans and a white shirt. She gaped. His hair turned darker, shorter, then a little longer, straight, wavy, curly, blonde again, brown, black, then bleached once more as he said:

"I dunno 'bout you, but I think it's bloody important, innit?"

His eyes were in hers again and she blinked.

"Uh-huh," she agreed.

"What do you think, then?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, the jeans and shirt giving way for leather pants and a black sweater, making her jaw drop even more. He looked the way she felt in that moment, pulse quickening at the thought of getting the fabrics off him. "Oh!" she repeated as he was waiting for her to elaborate. "Eh... I think you should finish your thought, it wasn't half bad, actually."

He smirked.

"How flattering," he said and she smiled as well, the leather giving way for a dark blue suit and she felt about ready to jump him. "It's just you can't bloody change your entire nature, can you? We are who we are. If we can't accept each other for who we are, then what's the sodding point?"

The suit changed into black pants and a white shirt and she frowned at the waiter-ness of the clothes. Then he turned to her, bringing a white cotton napkin over one arm as he met her gaze, saying:

"I could cater your every need; you do know that by now, don't you?"

She couldn't believe the idiocy of those words, and when he began to look wondering she realized _he_ hadn't said them.

_She_ had.

She'd made him say it.

"What?" he asked.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, she prayed silently and just as he turned his head to look down at himself his clothes switched into black jeans, T and duster and she tilted her head back with relief.

"Thank God," she breathed.

"What?" he repeated and she had her eyes in his once more.

"What?" she mimicked him. "And I know what you're saying with the accepting you and me for who we are and that we're actually supposed to just be at each other's throats right about now and perhaps even have killed one another, who knows, but now here we are, with the not killing and the talking. Right? Right. Let's go do something else."

The scenery swirled into a disco. Lights were flashing in perky colors and music was blasting from speakers. Spike looked around, then down at his feet, his eyes widening at the sight of the roller skates he was wearing. He immediately lost his balance, tumbling onto his back and hitting his head on the floor. People were skating in a never ending whirl around him; he could hear the sound of the skates even over the music.

Then Buffy leaned over him.

"What're you doing, you can't skate lying flat on your back," she said, grabbing his arm and getting him to his feet.

"I _can't_ bloody skate."

"I thought that was just the fear of ice talking."

"I do _not_ have a fear of ice."

She smiled.

Her hair was in two ponytails, she was wearing a tight T and shorts, her tanned legs looking good enough to eat. Not that he would, of course.

"Here, take my hand," she said. He didn't want to and she smiled again. "You trust me?" she inquired.

"Not for a moment."

She laughed and he felt himself begin to loosen up. She looked happy. He wondered if he'd seen her truly relaxed like this. He concluded he hadn't. He slipped one hand in the one she held out and she turned so that she faced him, beginning to skate backwards.

"Show off," he muttered and she smiled brightly.

She pulled him easily, though he felt like a fool and as though he would, any minute, fall to the floor again.

"Don't worry," she said, putting the hand of his she was holding at her hip as she glided close to him. "I'll catch you."

"I'm not gonna add to your burden, love," he stated and her eyes turned warm.

"I know," she assured. "You'll always be there, catching me back."

Then she scooted away, spinning into a graceful twirl, coming out of it on one leg, arms unfolding as she raised them to the ceiling, head tilted back, eyes closed. The fluid motion continued into strong strokes as she began to skate away from him. He watched her and the scenery began to change again, a moment later she was running, hair freed to fly around her face and her clothes exchanged for pants and jacket. He was following her, running as well. They were in a forest. Everything was gray. Everything was withering away.

Buffy felt panic grab her and she didn't know where it came from. She ran faster and faster, her feet twirling the ashes covering the ground. She finally began to slow, coming to a stop, fighting for air. She reached for a low branch of a nearby tree to steady herself, but it crumbled between her fingers and she felt the dread claw at her once more. She couldn't breathe.

"Buffy," Spike said, his hands grabbing her when she was about to go down on her knees.

"Something's wrong," she gasped.

"Easy," he tried to calm her.

"No," she shook her head, getting herself out of his hold and stumbling away from him.

She was running again. She felt like the ashes were clinging to her skin, covering her, sneaking down her throat, coating it, filling it. She started to cough, her eyes filling with tears from the strain. She needed water.

The next moment she came to a crashing halt as she reached the end of the forest and before her lay the ocean, incredibly still, its surface like a mirror. Only it was too late, she had been moving too quickly and in the following blink she tumbled forward, feeling a new kind of horror grab her when she looked down and saw a large, black shadow slowly moving beneath the surface below her; its fin appearing, creating soft ripples which began to spread. She turned in the air; her hand, in the last moment, getting hold of the tip of the cliff she was falling off and her other hand joined the hold.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the strength she knew she had within her. She could pull herself up. But she was shaking so bad at the thought of falling that she couldn't concentrate. Then she felt two hands grabbing her upper arms, pulling her straight up and then placing her on her feet on the cliff. She stared at him, feeling very small all of a sudden.

"Can't leave you alone for five seconds, can I?" he asked and she smiled a half smile as he lead her forward, bringing her into a bathroom. "Take a shower," he instructed, handing her a towel. "You're dirty."

She looked down at herself and saw that she actually was covered in ashes and hurriedly she undressed, stepping into the warm water.

"Feel better?" he wondered when she came downstairs.

It looked very different, but it was her house. It didn't matter, though. She took the cup of tea he had prepared and sunk down with a grateful sigh in the living room couch.

"Feel amazing," she said, meeting his gaze as she took a mouthful of the liquid. "Thank you," she added when she had swallowed.

"Didn't exactly scrub your back, love," he pointed out.

"Didn't exactly feed me to the shark, either," she smirked and he did as well, shrugging.

"Anyone's gonna have the first bite it'll be me," he retorted.

She smiled the shadow of a smile, sipping her tea.

"I believe you," she then said. "You would bite me, wouldn't you?"

He smiled.

"Only if you asked me to."

"Asked you to?" she repeated, perplexed, but smiling.

"So you don't remember then?"

She frowned, her smile fading slightly.

"Remember what?" she asked.

"Oh, good, there you are," her voice said and she came walking into the living room. Buffy turned her head to herself with her frown deepening. "As I was saying: you can't forget about the homework you still have to do, that you were supposed to do yesterday, but that thing came up..."

"Thing?" Spike asked.

"Nest," Buffy explained.

"Ah," Spike nodded.

"Hello!" the other Buffy protested, shaking her hair behind her shoulders and proceeding with: "And you promised mom you'd pick up her dry cleaning and get Dawn to buy a good pair of shoes, nothing with rhinestones or weird lacing, and maybe you should see if you can _finally_ buy those black pumps you've been eyeing for the past _month_. Giles wants you to go on patrol after he's quizzed you on that homework you've yet to do, so you should get some sparring done before then, and Willow and Xander wanted to do something fun so make sure to think of something that's fun for the whole group since you know they'll bring Tara and Anya and you don't want to exclude them. Also..."

The Buffy on the couch wrinkled her nose in dislike, watching herself rant on and on.

"Gee," she then said. "I can be really annoying."

"Just figuring that out, eh?"

She hit him on the arm.

"Shut up," she said and he smirked.

"I saw you, before, in a bed in hospital... They were trying to give you a shot," he murmured and she turned her head to him, clearly taken aback.

Her hands started fidgeting with the hem of the bathrobe she was in as she said:

"That's a long time ago."

"They locked you up?"

"Only for a really short while," she finally confessed. "I freaked my parents out; you've no idea what it did to them, what I did."

"I get it," he said. "Must've been hard, keeping it from them all that time."

She nodded solemnly.

"Can you sing?" she wondered. He furrowed his brow. "Well, that night... when I told my mom. Remember? I said we played in a band first, and that I played the drums and you said you sang."

He smiled a little.

"Do you play the drums?" he then asked back.

"No."

His smile widened before he looked away from her. She eyed him.

"But..." she began.

"I'm not bloody serenading you, pet," he interrupted her and a smile spread on her mouth as well. "So drop it."

"What did your father do?" she asked after a short while.

"He was an artist," he answered. "Hopelessly devoted to it, too. Never did make any money, though."

"Too bad. Do you know if any of his paintings are still out there?"

Spike was silent for a long moment, then replied:

"No."

"It's easy to find out," she remarked. "What?"

He rested his eyes in hers.

"I haven't thought about him in a long time," he said.

She observed him, then smiled tryingly. He smiled back, getting to his feet.

"Maybe we should..."

"Buffy," Angel interrupted as he came strolling into the room. "You coming?" he added and Buffy stared at him, then she nodded, rising and walking around the coffee table to take the hand he reached her.

They walked through the door and Spike watched them before slowly following in their wake.

The sky was painted pale with dawn. The strange gloom which acted as prelude to the piercing rays of light lay quivering in wait for the morning. The older vampire and Slayer walked hand in hand across the lawn and to the street, seemingly not caring at all about the approaching certain death about to peak over the treetops.

Spike didn't think twice about it as he walked in their footsteps.

Buffy laughed and Angel joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist and she leaned against him. They were talking with ease. Safe in the presence of the other. Spike felt the jealousy tear loose and stomp its way through him.

Buffy smiled at Angel, feeling the strength of him close and taking from it. She missed him, she really did. They headed out of the city, into the woods. She told him about what was going on and he glanced back at Spike, hovering like a wraith somewhere not far behind them. Then he smiled, eyes back in hers, shaking his head a little.

"It's typical," he muttered.

"What is?" she asked.

"Him tagging along. He's like a lost puppy. He never was good taking care of himself." She raised her eyebrows and he mimicked her as he said: "What? Have you ever seen him on his own?"

"Yes. You're one to talk about him like that when you haven't spent time with him for a hundred years."

He furrowed his brow a little.

"Are you defending him?"

"Yeah, I'm defending him," she answered, pausing as she realized she had said the opposite of what she had meant to say. "Maybe there's more to him than you think," she added.

"Are you ill?"

She laughed, giving him a shove.

They had reached the top of a hill, overlooking the city and showing the orange sky tattling the rising sun. He had waited for it once before, in that very spot.

"I don't know what I would've done, if you'd died," she said as they turned to face each other.

"You got the thought out of my head fast enough," he smiled. "I only left because I wanted you to be happy. To have a full life. I held you back, Buffy. And our relationship wasn't... it couldn't grow. We were stuck."

"I know," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "Feels like yesterday." She grew thoughtful as she turned her eyes out of his and looked at the horizon, where a small speck of gold had begun glorifying the sky. "And still, like a long time ago."

"I know what you mean," he said, making her look back at him.

She smiled, closing her eyes as he leaned forward to place his lips against hers. However, the kiss was stopped as she heard Spike give a yell of pain. She turned her head to him, her eyes widening as his hands were at his face and he was going down on his knees.

"It burns!" he exclaimed.

She was at his side in a second.

"Spike?" she said as he doubled over, whining and shaking. "Spike!"

The warmth of the sun suddenly seemed tangible and she felt her heart wrench itself into a tight knot within her as she realized what was happening to him.

"Get up! Right now!" she barked, grabbing him and beginning to get him to his feet.

Only he sat back, completely calm. His gaze meeting hers, full of tease.

He was fine!

"You bastard!" she exclaimed, shoving him hard in the chest before she stood.

He laughed and she shook her head, fighting to keep her face straight.

"It's not funny," she stated.

He merely smiled widely, getting to his feet.

"Did you say your goodbyes?" he asked.

She turned her head to the spot she had shared with Angel, noting he was gone. Then she looked back at Spike.

"We'll never say our goodbyes," she replied.

"Neither will Dru and I," he said. "Doesn't mean I haven't let her go."

"Have you?" she asked and he eyed her.

"Don't think I have?"

"Well, it's just, sharing a hundred plus years with someone... Kinda hard to compete with."

"Wanna try?"

She met his gaze, unable to hold down a small smile as she said:

"No!"

He smirked.

Suddenly the view spun around them and they found themselves in a well-known cemetery, as it hosted his crypt. She was wearing jeans and a leather jacket, her hair in a tight ponytail which swung as she spun around to face him. Her spider senses told her to duck, and so she was on him the next moment, making him fall backwards onto the ground, their noses touching as she drew a slight breath, his eyes widening quizzically.

"No Face," she said. "He's here."

"Don't see him," Spike mumbled, unsure of how to tackle her sudden closeness.

"There was a glitch," she explained. "I mean, I could feel him."

And you're about to feel a little bit more of me than I want, Spike thought, sitting up and thus making her straddle him, which didn't exactly improve the matter.

"Can you feel him now?" he murmured.

She was about to answer, but paused and he swallowed, trying to keep a cool head, but finding it as hard as not smoking from the sun.

Her heart was beginning to grow heavy, beating in her throat instead of her chest, and her skin felt all electric as she placed her hands against his chest.

Then she was grabbed forcefully from behind, by the hair, and painfully pulled to her feet.

"See?" she gritted out to Spike before kicking out a leg, hitting No Face, who was still behind her, in the side.

She repeated it, Spike rising and swiftly moving forward to join in. Her hands were on the demon's, clawing for him to let his hold go. Spike hit him on the side of the throat; then put his elbow on the spot, trying to break their adversary away from the Slayer. It didn't work.

"Spike!" Buffy said, putting one foot up in the air. "Give me a hand."

He got what she meant the following second, moving around to stand before her, linking his fingers together and making a cup for her to step into. Their joined strength then allowed her a flip, where she landed behind No Face's back, and was freed from his grasp. She peeked out from behind him, meeting Spike's gaze with an appreciative nod before she kicked No Face forcefully at the small of his back. Spike let the toe of his right shoe connect with the demon's chin, and through this combination the demon went down on his knees.

Buffy felt the adrenaline course through her as she took a step forward in order to pin the demon down, but in the next moment he was standing, one hand around her throat once more. Her eyes widened when he brought his free hand up, holding the dagger.

Spike ran forward, but was met by an awesome kick in the stomach which sent him flying several yards and made him hit the entrance to Alpert's crypt back first.

"Nasselah," Buffy heard a voice whisper, the dagger drifting closer. "Ih asi tesselah, Nasselah. Mekh ih se nakh isa messai."

"Don't," Buffy practically whispered.

The tip of the dagger was millimeters from piercing her eye when the demon staggered forward and the dagger glanced to the side, missing its mark and scratching her cheek instead. The demon was gone from sight in one blink and Buffy found herself facing Spike, who was holding his side as though he was in pain.

"You okay?" he asked.

She felt her cheek, her fingertips coming away bloodied. She took in the sight, then shrugged.

"I'll live. You?"

"Un-beating heart intact."

They both looked the way his crypt lie and started toward it.

"Should have something for that cut," he said.

"It'll stop," she replied.

They walked through the door.

"Keep forgetting we're in _there_," he murmured with a gesture to her head, and she smiled.

"Yeah."

There was a noise which came from the room below and they both tensed.

Buffy put a finger to her lips and Spike nodded. They proceeded with making their way carefully up to the open trapdoor leading downstairs. Buffy pointed to herself and Spike shrugged the go-ahead. She climbed down first, he followed.

"This isn't how it looks down here," Spike remarked as he stepped down behind her, though he seemed more amused than offended.

He _was_, actually, very amused, at the taste she had bequeathed him with; which was something out of a forties horror movie. Black velvet and an actual coffin. He hadn't slept in one of those for a while now. But the candles were him. And they were everywhere. He drew the conclusion that No Face was _not_ the occupant.

Buffy took another step forward and halted at the sight which met her.

She was on the floor, straddling him, her arms around his neck, her hands buried in his hair while he breathed unnecessary breaths against her chest. She was riding him slowly. Her naked skin was glistening with sweat and her eyes were closed, her face in rapture.

Buffy felt her heart increase its beats by the double.

And suddenly the fantasy she had pulled him into, at the Bronze, dancing, how near he had been, how he had felt, how she had felt, what she had said, what she had been on the brink of offering, it all came flooding her mind. Her blood grew a few degrees warmer in her veins.

Spike came to the same kind of halt as she had, stopping at her side. He stared, couldn't do anything but, feeling a strange envy of himself, and then a glittering desire which encircled him and made him turn his head to her.

"If I'd only known," he said, the teasing in his voice making her want to cringe.

"It's not mine," she retorted.

"Yours?"

"My _thought_! It's yours. You put it there," she stated, fully convincing herself of it, too.

Their surroundings spun them into the dance floor of the Bronze; people moving to the loudness of live music, the beat going through the crowd.

"_I_ put it there?" he more demanded than asked.

"Yes!"

"Why can't you just sodding admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That there's something there. Always has been. That if you could just move past this eternal bloody enemies bit, you might actually find you could like me. In some ways."

"Ah, yes, yours are the ways I like: murderous, threatening, foreboding, callous, selfish, mocking, gleeful..."

"Alright," he interrupted; her eyes still in his.

She smiled just a little, despite herself.

"So when do I matter?" he wondered softly and she felt a rush go through her at that way he had of looking at her as though she was all he could see. He took a step forward, diminishing the space between them to practically nothing and she tilted her head back to look up at him. "What do I do to matter?" he mumbled, bringing a hand to the cheek of hers which had been hurt before and now only carried a red mark where the cut had been.

His fingertips preceded his palm as it tenderly placed itself against her skin. Something within her began to grow weak. She was quivering as her hands grasped the hem of his shirt, the thought of him beneath her, inside her, made the quiver stagger and expand until she had an uncontrollable need to lean against him. She closed her eyes, the music fading away as well as the smells and impressions of what was around them.

When nothing happened she furrowed her brow questioningly; then opened her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you."

She stared at the man who had taken the vampire's place.

"Riley," she breathed.


	11. Broken Seam

Hello dears,

So happy to hear from you, as always and always in continuum et infinitium et cetera! Thank you! ;)

Kim (Of course she is, she's the Slayer! ;) Ooooh, eeriness lies in that of the not knowing and thus I cannot tell you of what he was chanting. Muahahaha. Hehe, yes, the naked memos should sustain him. :) Oh, my, YES!) :) and Ari (Oh, sure thing, girl! I'm always happy to hear from you, just didn't want there to be any confusion! And thank you very much. I'm so flattered you'd think that, and very glad to read it! I'd say something encouraging about your English class, but I'm afraid it'll just sound corny. Anyways, keep at it! Uegh, just ignore that if it rubs you the wrong way.) ;)

To all, love you love you here's another chapter! Hope you'll…………………………...enjoy.

All My Love,

Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Broken Seam¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

"Is everything okay?"

They were in the living room of her house and she looked around, trying desperately not to feel so disoriented and strange. She met Riley's quizzical gaze and smiled.

"I'm fine, I think," she said. "I'm just in the middle of something."

Really in the middle of something.

"Can I help?"

No, you can't. You have to go away. No, don't send him away. It's good he's here. No, it isn't. Yes, it is. No, it...

"You look scared, honey. What's going on?" Riley asked.

But when he put out his hands to touch her, she moved away.

"It's nothing. It's... _I_ have to deal with it," she replied.

There was a knock on the front door and she headed up to it as she said:

"If there was ever a thing you couldn't help with, it's this."

She opened the door and was met by an empty porch. She raised her eyebrows, stepping outside and looking right and left before going back in, closing it behind her.

"That's weird," she said; however she cane to a stop in the doorway of the living room when Riley appeared to be gone, and No Face to have taken his place. "I have got to stop this exchange program nonsense," she muttered, steadying herself for whatever was to come. "So," she finally said. "Feel like giving me an expression with that skin?"

He moved forward at that and she blinked.

"I take it no," she said, ducking as he swung an arm at her, kicking him in the side again and running past him into the living room.

He turned as she grabbed a picture frame off a side table.

"Sorry, grandma," she said, throwing the frame at the demon, who blocked it causing any real injury with one arm. "Okay," she mumbled slowly, looking around.

Then she shrugged, grabbing the coffee table and lifting it, tossing it at him and watching as he kicked it to bits. She pouted at the destruction, unsure of whom the blame. She decided it was her time to make an actual move and approached him with what she considered swiftness, but he was ready for her, blocking her hook and grabbing her by the neck, sending her head first through the glass of the living room door. She rolled on the hall floor and got to her feet, brushing glass off her with an incensed frown.

"Well, that's just rude," she commented.

She noted he held the dagger in one hand again. He sure seemed set on harming her with that thing, didn't he? What was so special with it? Why, oh, why couldn't she have paid more attention to whenever Giles tried to babble books with her?

"We don't have to do this, you know," she said, holding her hands up as he began to come closer. "I promise, you leave now and I'll forget the whole thing!"

But he wouldn't leave, and she felt herself backed into a corner.

"What if you're just a figment of my imagination?" she murmured. "What if I could find a loop hole, just like you did...? I could _make_ you leave."

She contemplated it for another second, feeling the wall of the dining room doorway connect with her back.

You're in danger, Buffy, she told herself. Now, get rid of it.

And in the following instant, the door swung open and No Face was pulled through it by unseen hands, disappearing as the door shut with a loud bang. It made her jerk, but then she smiled widely.

Spike! she then thought. I have to find him! Oh, no, he can be _any_where...

But when she looked up, he was there.

"Wow," she said. "I'm really getting a hang of this."

Only, the heat in his gaze took her aback and made a lazy yearning flare itself to life within her. When he took a step forward the laziness gave way for an urgency which transferred into her own legs and she took a step forward as well.

I don't want this, she thought to herself.

But it was too late for that. For persuasiveness and reason, when all she could see was him.

She was close to him the following moment, his nose sliding along hers before his mouth caught her lips and she moaned silently, unsure of where the sound came from. But her tongue met his, and she inhaled as her arms wrapped around him, his hands pressing her to him as he spun them around and made her back up against the wall opposite the stairs.

She was burning up, her heart slowing in the most irregular fashion and her every nerve was focused on his touches, on his hands sliding inside her shirt, up the sensitive skin of her back, making her shiver with pleasure.

You're crazy! You've lost your mind completely! a voice kept whispering.

His kisses made it easy to ignore it.

She felt herself give in, and the decision washed away everything else. It was a relief and a thrill unlike any she'd ever experienced before. And man, what a good kisser he was. She put a leg up, wrapping it over his hip as he grinded into her and she drew another breath, his mouth leaving hers to travel down her neck. She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

His lips nibbled softly along her throat and she bit the inside of her cheek.

He'll bite, a thought went fleetingly through her mind.

I'll let him, she countered, her hands sliding into his hair.

"And what have we here?"

She felt her entire frame grow rigid at the sound of the voice.

It couldn't be.

But Spike stopped kissing her and stepped away from her as she turned her head to meet the gaze of...

"Spike?"

He smiled with no humor, though there was a definite glint in his eye as he turned it on the image of himself before looking back at her.

"I can tell why you'd be so bloody surprised to see me, love," he said. "Looks like you were about ready to do the nasty with something nasty."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Cute," she commented.

"Is that what you'd call it?"

"It isn't..."

"...what it looks like?" he smirked.

She glanced to the side, but the spot was empty. The other Spike was gone and she was left alone with him, whatever real there was to him. She leaned against the wall again, scratching one arm and trying to find some mingle of words that would explain it all away. She felt nothing but sheepish.

"I don't know what to say," she finally murmured.

"Don't have to say anything," he assured.

The hall and the house gave way for a painting they both knew. She was standing in the middle of the green-painted bridge, he was at the base. She smiled slightly at the softness of the black of the pond to her right.

"Is this a safe place?" he wondered.

"No place is safe," she answered, her smile broadening a tad.

"Then what are we doing?" he asked, smiling as well.

She leaned against the railing and he came up to join her. She was wearing a pink dress this time, simple, but perfect. He was in a white shirt and gray pants. They were both barefooted. Casual. Very casual.

"We're keeping an eye out for the places that could be safe. And then we fight to make them that way," she answered his previous question.

"Can't make all places safe."

"No," she agreed, looking down at the darkness of the pond. "No, but we can try."

He observed her for the longest time, then smiled a little, turning his eyes on the quiet waters below as well.

"I believe I was being... what was it?" He began counting on his fingers as he said: "'Murderous, threatening, foreboding, callous' – that's it, callous. Before. True, I did feel you were ignoring your darker side, and, yeah – safe to say in ways you are." She smiled a half smile at that. "But the way you don't allow it to take over, that's what makes you who you are."

"Yeah," she mumbled, her smile fading. "'The Slayer'."

"No," he disagreed gently, looking at her. She turned her head to him when he finished: "You."

"Isn't it pretty here?" she changed the subject.

He merely smiled, walking off the bridge and strolling further into the painting. She hesitated, then followed. She didn't know him. She didn't know who he was or what drove him or why he was where he was when he was. But she knew what truth there was to read in his eyes. She did know that now.

The trees gave way for an open bay, the grass gave way for sand, and they walked down a slope taking them to a stretching beach. The ocean, steel gray; the sky, white. There was no wind, but the waves lashed up against the shore, frothing at the mouth as they licked the sand before smiling their way back out to rejoin their kin.

The Slayer and the vampire were both soaking wet once more, though they hadn't been near the water. It was as though they had been spat out of the deep blue to stand before one another on the deserted spot of land, neither knowing why or how they had come to be there.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She eyed him in silence.

What did she want?

She began to approach him, and the ocean and the beach and the sky fell away, and they were in the Bronze, on the dance floor, with the people, as she reached him. Her arms went up as one of his went around her, pulling her to him, his free hand at her chin, his thumb stroking her lower lip, his eyes fierce and the need in them so clear, the longing a dark blue shadow behind it. She met his mouth as it came crashing down on hers, her lips already parted, her tongue rough and playful.

This wasn't a thought, it was him entwined with her, and it was more real than a lot of things she had felt lately. Raw and pure her desire for this man seemed to finally have shaken itself awake and there was no stopping it now.

And then she was naked in a room unknown, serene and welcoming for the two lovers they were becoming. He was standing before her, eyes in hers. Her heart was erratic, her chest heaving slowly. He circled her, his hands softly gliding over her skin, igniting it, sending goose bumps over her shoulders and down her arms. Facing her he kissed her neck and wrapped his arms around her.

They were on the bed, he entered her and she met his kiss as he filled her, her hips greeting his movements. She was in a slowly building ecstasy, refined in the way it relished in this forbidden fruit.

He thrust into her, his entire being honed in on what she needed from him. Every single look, quake, sigh sent him messages and he listened to them. Knowing that he was loving her, feeling her feeling it, and needing her to believe it. She was warm and soft and like a glimpse of a dream in a state of half-awareness. And so he let her take him over completely, his demon not standing a chance in breaking through with anger or frustration or aggravation as he burrowed himself in the wonders of her. The light of her, which shone like a guide in everything she did. And yet it didn't scorch him. So he took it, allowed it to access him.

His lips met hers again.

She felt as though she had waited for this forever. The feel of his cool skin against the burning surface of hers, the boldness with which he claimed her. Every muscle in her body was working to make sure he understood what he was doing to her, wanting him to experience it with her. She groaned, filled with a delirious need to disappear into him, become one with this rapture cascading through her.

She kissed him deeply, then breathed him in, arching her back when a quiver of pleasure moved inside her.

She was building towards climax, he could feel it. He brought his head up and looked down at her. His fingers stroked the right side of her throat, where scars still stubbornly remained from the only two bites she had ever received. A fluty question went through his head, of what she tasted like. But he pushed it back.

"Spike," she mumbled, and for a second there was something new in her gaze, something he couldn't make out.

She put a hand up and gently pulled it from his forehead to his chin and he realized a second too late what she was doing as the muscles of his face shifted and he could feel the tips of his fangs against his tongue. She eyed him with complete surrender and he realized that she had put that fluty thought in his head.

She looked into the yellow of his demon and she knew, in that moment, that he never would have allowed it to come out of its own. But he hadn't brought it forth, she had. Her heart was hammering, the adrenaline was mixing with the pleasure he was instilling.

Take it, she thought.

He could read it on her, and as he felt her muscles tighten for the rapture to peak, he parted his lips and let his fangs scrape the clean flesh to the left of her throat.

Her blood was flowing as though singing its concurrence with the deed about to be done. It wanted to be a part of him, to warm him, to grant him life undiluted. To peel through the walls of his veins and flow through him.

She was breathing in his ear, her hold on him hardening and when he felt her shake as the orgasm began its path through her, he placed his bite by her jugular and slowly began to drink.

She was the sweetest nectar and the most addictive drug, and she slid down his throat as though made to do so. He latched on and was sure he wouldn't be able to break away.

Every new mouthful he took was a new trickle of agreeable sensations which started at the place of his mouth and traveled through her, to her fingertips and all the way to the ends of her toes. It was like cool rain on a hot summer's day and it was as though a piece that had been missing from her was putting itself right. It was the absoluteness of seduction, the core of intimacy.

His body temperature was rising, he felt like he was soaring out of himself, but then her hold began to slacken and in the following instant he broke away from her.

He stripped his vampire exterior, putting a hand by her cheek as her head lolled to the side. A shiver went up his spine as fear grabbed him.

"Buffy?" he said, voice almost cracking.

She eased her eyes open and he drew a breath of relief.

She put her hands on either side of his face, making him meet her gaze, looking reassuring as a small smile began to play on her lips.

But she was torn from his arms into a place which was red. The wound at her throat began to pound with pain and she put both hands over it as she sunk down on her knees. She was still nude, and when she looked down she realized what it was she was surrounded by.

Blood.

"Buffy," Angel said and she looked up at him where he was standing a few yards away. "What are you doing?"

She got to her feet, a white dress covering her as she removed her hands from the wound.

"Bleeding," she answered.

"You don't have to," Riley said and she turned around, standing in the basement of her house.

"How do I stop it?" she asked.

"It's already stopped," he replied, grabbing the candelabra he had been looking for and she followed him up the stairs, touching the slightly aching scar to the left of her throat.

The door of the basement closed behind him, and when she pushed it open she stepped right into Spike's crypt.

"When will it matter?" he asked.

She wanted to know what to tell him, but didn't.

"Spike," Willow stated to Buffy's left. "He tried to bite me."

"Spike," Xander said, looking frazzled as he came running up to her. "Kidnapped me and Will."

"Spike stopped by," Joyce smiled, holding up a cup. "He likes the tiny marshmallows."

She ran from them, through the door of the crypt and outside, up the stairs of the mansion and coming to a halt before Angel.

"It was _you_!" she exclaimed. "_You_ brought him here. _You_ make him go away!"

"You want him gone, you'll have to tell him," Angel said calmly.

"I don't want him here!"

"So tell him."

She stared at him, feeling tears rise for a reason unknown.

"I can't," she said.

"Of all the places you could've gone."

Her heart stilled itself, the tears running over in their quiet way as she turned around, facing Spike, who stepped in through the doorway.

"This isn't..."

"...what it looks like?" he finished for her.

She looked at Angel and then back at Spike.

"It isn't," she said.

He didn't want the jealousy to take over, but Angel always had been a soar spot where she was a weak spot, and those two together was nothing but painful for him. So here he was, seemingly pulled wherever she went. Having to witness this when she was still fresh beneath his palms, when her juices still filled his nostrils with their sweet promise, when her blood still ran through him. She could take it all away with one thought, but she hadn't, and now he had to live with the question of whether he would ever feel her in that way again. She was quite the little torturer, wasn't she?

"What then?" he now asked, unable to shut up. "Needing some advice? Some support? How to tackle shagging the evil undead, that it?"

She bit her jaws together.

"No," she answered. "And... stop."

"Sorry, did it sting?"

"Stop."

He regretted it that moment and stood down, looking away from her.

Soft snowflakes began to fall from the ceiling, collecting on the floor and quickly making a carpet for it, a blanket for the couch, covering the room in white cleanliness; the backdrop of the room falling away with every new flake and they found themselves in the middle of a large meadow. Two children were playing, throwing snowballs and making snow angels.

"Do you miss her?" Buffy asked Spike.

"Sometimes," he answered. "Hadn't thought about her in a while."

They flashed into a memory of Spike and Drusilla.

"Do you miss her?" Buffy wondered.

"Sometimes," he answered, though this time it took a little longer for it to come out. "It was easier with her."

"What do you think I can give you?" she asked. "I've nothing to offer you."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Now you're lying," she said.

They were outside her house. She started for the street. He came up to walk beside her.

"I won't take it, if that's what you're worried about," he stated and she stopped, turning to him.

"I'm not worried," she said.

He stared at the scars showing where his fangs had punctured her skin. For a second he felt nauseous.

"Jesus," he murmured and she looked away from him.

"It doesn't matter," she said.

"Buffy, of course it bloody matters. Don't say it doesn't!"

She clenched her jaws together. She didn't know how to feel about it yet. She was in slight shock of how willing she had been to receive his mark, and how suddenly she had been taken from him, and how he had made her feel, and how she should feel about that. She knew her beliefs, and how stubborn she was. And this was anything but easy.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't've... let you. I shouldn't have."

She did know she felt that, at least.

He didn't want to hear it.

"Tomorrow it's all a memory," he murmured, but there was sadness in his eyes that he couldn't hide and she took a step closer to him.

She hadn't wanted to cause him the pain she could see he was under. She was torn down the middle and didn't know which way to turn.

Suddenly they were both falling backwards. Faster and faster. Blue sparks flashing around them. And with what felt like a small electric shock going through her she woke up.

She drew a breath, feeling dizzy.

"Willow?" she said, sitting up slowly and blinking.

The light outside was diminishing. It must be late in the afternoon. Soon her sight had cleared, but she didn't believe what her eyes showed her. Standing up from the couch she looked at the room, which appeared to have been hit by a hurricane.

"What the bloody...?" Spike muttered, getting to his feet as well.

"Willow!" Buffy yelled. "Xander! Giles!"

She took a large step over the overturned coffee table and ran up to the stairs.

Spike sniffed the air, then kicked the coffee table aside, seeing drops of blood on the carpet. He bit his jaws together.

"Willow!"

"They're not here," he called to her.

She came back down, looking shattered. She spotted the blood and her eyes seemed to glaze over. She didn't want to acknowledge what she had already deduced. That they had been taken. Right under her nose. That they were in the hands of whatever deranged paranormality was after her this time. That one of them, or all of them, could already be dead.


	12. Lakhai Toh

It's always so great to hear from you. You're too good to me! Thank you so very much for your reviews!

starhawk (Terribly terrific that you enjoyed it and I hope the following shall be no exception! Thanks, dear!) ;), Terra (Thanks! So glad you thought so! And good that the disorientation agreed with you! Thanks a lot!) :) and Ari (It's so great that you enjoyed it! Haha, well, corny can also be a very good thing, yeah:) And most of the answers are just a few lines away so keep reading! Won't comment on that last bit for fear of giving anything away so all I'll say is thanks for all the thoughts, and really hope you'll like it, girl!) :)

To all, I hope you will enjoy this chapter. I really do.

DUN-DUN-DUN! ;)

All My Love, Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤Lakhai Toh¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

She sat down slowly on the second step of the stairs, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her. Spike could see the shock like a black mist circling her head, coloring her eyes darker. He got why, he had felt what that pack of mortals meant to her, but this wasn't the time to sit and stare into space.

"We need the list," he said.

"What?" she asked, looking like she really hadn't heard him.

"The list. That you and Willow made. Of places."

She seemed uncomprehending for another short second, and then she got a hold of herself, nodding as she stood and came up to him. Taking in the mess they were the center of, she looked utterly despairing for a short second, but then she lit up and reached down by his foot, grabbing hold of the notepad's corner, which was sticking out from under the couch. Freeing it she straightened up, reading what was written.

"We went to many of these places in my head, too," she said, handing him the pad. "I have to call home," she added, walking up to the phone hanging on the kitchen wall.

She dialed with trembling fingers, her mind screaming _Glory's behind this, Glory's behind this_! When Joyce answered she felt like a block of granite had been tossed off her shoulders and she exhaled slowly.

"Mom," she said.

"Hi, honey. You'll be home in time for dinner, right?"

"Where's Dawn?"

"At Janice's," Joyce replied, a note of wondering coming into her voice.

"You need to go there. Make up some excuse to tell Mrs. Richards and don't leave there until I call you."

"What's going on? Does it have something to do with Glory?"

"I hope to God it doesn't."

"I'll go right away. Be careful."

Buffy hung up and came back out into the living room, where Spike was setting some of the furniture straight again. She stopped in the doorway, observing him.

"Doesn't seem like her style, does it?" he asked.

"No, I guess not," Buffy agreed. "Glory's more hands on. But why would our poet take them and not kill me? Us?"

"We'll get our chance to ask him," Spike replied.

"You figured it out? Where he is?"

"No," he answered, smiling a little. "But there can only be so many of these spots, right? And you just called home, so..."

"Right. We'll start at the Bronze."

He nodded his agreement, seeing the underlying fright in the otherwise brave face she was keeping.

"We'll find them," he assured gently.

She felt like hugging him, but merely nodded and got herself moving, walking through the splintered door, and into the evening air. The sky was almost black, and the moon was a crescent slice of light within it. They walked in silence, she wanted to think it was because they were so absorbed in their own thoughts, but truth was she was dangling in the air while a billion impressions hit her over and over. Impressions created by his memories and her own, and they couldn't interlock. They were too different.

Spike's thoughts were trailing somewhere around there, but even more on the sensation of still tasting her, and though he could do nothing but wonder if it was the true flavor of her blood, or if it had been sweetened even more by her mind, he knew it didn't matter. It had to be taken for what it was: a hidden longing which she had allowed herself to act on in a moment when neither of them had been really thinking straight. The way she had kissed him, however, had been something else. He needed to talk to her, but she looked far away, and he didn't know how to broach the subject.

They reached the club. It was too early for it to have opened, which seemed to fit perfectly for there to be something shady going on inside its walls. They walked around to the back and Buffy paused as Spike continued up to the door situated there.

"This is where we met," she said and the unexpected sound of her voice, as well as the words, made him stop and turn to her.

"So it is," he agreed with a trying smile.

She returned it.

"First time you threatened me to death, too," she said and his smile turned to a smirk.

"All out of deepest respect, of course."

"Oh, of course," she said, then she laughed. "The good old days, is what we'll have to call them. Who'd've thunk, right?"

They turned somber, Buffy looking at the ground.

Beneath me.

The words echoed through her head and she closed her eyes at the shock of pain which shot through her at the memory she now shared with him. She had caused him a lot of hurt, and she wasn't sure she could ever stop. What was the use of his feeling the way he did, when she couldn't... She couldn't reciprocate his emotions. Yes, losing herself in him had been a dangerous and in ways stupid thing to do, letting him inside her, letting him know her. But she didn't love him.

"It's locked," he now said with a wave to the door. "A well-aimed kick'll do it."

She smirked, coming up to stand beside him.

"On three?"

He gave a nod.

"One," she began.

"Two," he filled in.

The door opened and a surprised bartender stopped mid-step, staring at the two of them, legs just about ready to deliver a kick each. Buffy lowered hers with a friendly smile, pushing Spike's leg down as well, as he didn't seemed inclined to make the movement himself.

"We didn't think anyone was here," she said.

"Wanted to get an early start. Letters to Cleo are playing tonight. There'll be a crowd," the bartender replied with a shrug, walking out between them and up to the dumpster opposite the door, throwing some bags of trash in.

"We're looking for some people. Seen any of those around?" Buffy wondered, the bartender coming back the way he had gone, stopping in the doorway again.

"No," he answered. "No people yet. It's just me."

"You sure there's no one else in there?" Spike asked. "It's a pretty big place."

"I'm positive," he replied, looking from one to the other and suddenly beginning to grow clearly apprehensive. "Now if you'll excuse me."

With that he closed the door. They could hear the lock click heavily and Buffy turned her head to Spike. They smiled at the same time.

"I thought we were perfectly nice," she said as they started out of the alley.

"And we look the part too," he agreed, glancing at her leather pants and his leather coat.

"Yes, don't we?"

They proceeded down the street, taking them toward the centre of town.

"Guess it's the cemetery, then?" he said after a while.

"Guess so. Figures," she murmured. "I did say so, but did anyone listen to me? No."

"Better not 've trashed my crypt," he muttered.

She smirked.

Everything was quiet once they reached their destination. They walked the path taking them to Spike's home, both on their guard. They reached the crypt. The door was whole. Spike pushed it open, stepping inside and Buffy followed. The humble space was empty.

"And downstairs?" she asked.

He climbed down to check, coming up again shaking his head. She sighed, heading their leave out the door.

"Alright," she said. "What now? It's not exactly the smallest cemetery in Sunnydale."

"We do a sweep. Do you remember where we fought No Face?"

"No..."

But then her face lit up and just like that she began to run. He stared after her, then got himself moving.

Damn, she's fast, he thought, jumping over a tombstone as she disappeared from sight behind a group of pine trees. He rounded it and almost collided with her where she was standing, looking up at the crypt before her. It was one of the smaller ones, but the name on it was clear as day.

Alpert.

"This is where we were gonna take our wedding pictures," he stated and she glanced at him. "Well, now that's ruined," he added matter-of-factly and she had to smile.

"On three?"

They kicked the door in quite easily, walking up to the opening, which revealed a set of stairs leading into darkness.

"And where's our creepy background music?" Buffy muttered.

They shared a look, and then she started the descent.

Spike brought out his lighter and she gave him an appreciative smile. He shrugged, handing it to her. She held it up.

"This little light of mine," he sang softly.

She smirked.

"Well, now you're just trying to scare me," she commented, making him smirk as well.

They reached the bottom step and Spike took a hold of one of Buffy's arms as she was about to run forward.

On the other side of the rectangular room – in a chair each – sat Willow, Xander and Giles. The chairs were wooden and square and had leather straps binding their prisoners' hands and ankles. They were all unconscious.

Buffy tried to get loose, but in this instance Spike's driving force was stronger as he couldn't let her walk into a so clearly set trap.

"Clever, Mr. Kingsley," a raspy voice said and there was a squeaky noise right before a being which looked very old and very scrawny came into their line of sight.

He was bald, wrinkled, pale and sitting in an old fashioned wheelchair. He was wearing a charcoal suit and his eyes were so light blue they were almost white. He was smiling, his teeth unnaturally unspoiled for his age.

"Then again, you always were the clever one."

"Sykes," Spike grumbled and Buffy stared at the man.

"Sykes?" she asked. "Why is there no bells ringing?"

"Because you've only ever met my henchmen, Ms. Summers," Sykes replied. "But this time I am here for a very particular reason and thought it best to deal with matters myself."

"And you know him?" she asked Spike.

"Mr. Kingsley's been selling me information from time to time," Sykes smiled.

Her eyes hardened.

"Haven't seen your boys around in a while," Spike said, keeping from looking at the Slayer as he could feel her gaze bearing into him.

"I've been busy with other obligations. I am here for selfish reasons, though," Sykes stated. "You have something I want."

Buffy turned her disbelieving rage from the vampire and onto the incapacitated demon.

"And what is that?"

"It's a memory," Sykes replied. "But since I couldn't get to it inside you I had to take these drastic measures to secure my procuring it," he added, signing to the tied up Scoobies.

"A memory?"

"Yes."

He brought something out which had been lying to the side of one leg. It glinted maliciously in the dim light.

The dagger.

Spike took a step past Buffy and it was _her_ time to grab _him_.

Sykes raised his eyebrows, smiling in the most superior manner. Buffy felt a dangerous hatred fill her at the sight of it. Her hold on the leather of Spike's duster hardened, the fabric creaking in protest. Spike turned his eyes on her, and seeing the set expression on her face he understood that it wouldn't take much to push her over the edge.

"So take it," she then said, gaze still on Sykes. Spike wanted to protest, but couldn't. "Take it, be done with it, and let them go."

"It'll be something damaging to you," he warned, her gaze going to his. "Be careful with this one."

"Don't give me advice how to deal with your..."

"'S not like that," he stopped her.

But she felt the betrayal cut through her, and she didn't like what power he had suddenly gained to cause her this sort of damage. Because it hurt her, though his actions and mingling with the loathsome character before her was something which had happened long before this day, and with no connection to it, she was sure of it.

"What memory do you need?" she asked.

Sykes smirked.

"Caution usually comes _before_ action," he remarked. "It is one you would not willingly give up. One of some importance to you."

"And?"

"It deals with your inheritance," he said. "I need it."

She stared at him.

"For what?"

"For me. The fact that it would effectively strip you of your Slayer mantle is a tremendous perk," he said and this time both Slayer and vampire moved forward.

Sykes was, however, in that moment, joined by a dozen large vampires, all in black and so obviously bodyguards they might as well have had the word stitched across their muscular torsos. They stepped out of niches in the walls, and the two defenders found themselves surrounded.

"Right, because _they'll_ stop us," Buffy scoffed.

Sykes tilted his head to the side; then raised the hand not holding the dagger. It had something in its palm, and suddenly the people in the chairs jerked. There was no doubt as to the electric current running through them.

"Stop!" Buffy exclaimed.

Sykes complied and her friends went limp.

She felt like she would tear the room apart, and then there was nothing but overwhelming defeat.

"Fine," she said.

The demon smiled his victory.

"Come here then, vampire slayer."

She gave a nod before she turned to Spike, who had an objection painted on his features that he seemed to know was useless. She smiled reassuringly, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around him. He tentatively held her to him, wondering what she was up to.

"Get ready."

The words were less than a whisper in his ear, her cheek stroking his as she pulled back again. His fingertips touched her jaw line as she stepped away.

She approached the other demon. He was still smiling, still looking as though he had hit the jackpot. He seemed to have no idea the amount of pain she was getting ready to inflict on him. She stopped before him.

He held up the dagger.

"So it was you? In my head?" she asked.

"Yes. See, the wonderful thing about ones mind is that through its eye you can see yourself the way you want to be."

"I try to see myself the way I am."

"No one is introspected enough to see themselves just as they are. Come now, your journey into yourself didn't reveal hidden paths to unknown territories? Dark and haunting they lay in the back of your mind. You should be both happy, and terrified, that you got to explore them."

"So you planned to take my friends hostage all along. There was no anonymous vic?"

"Had I managed to take the memory from you while in your mind I wouldn't have had to take your friends hostage," he simply replied.

"And Spike? What part did he play in all this?"

Sykes' smile broadened.

"You tell me," he said and she narrowed her eyes. "He was the link," he explained, glancing over at the vampire. "Without him I wouldn't have been able to enter your head. Having met the both of us he acted as a bridge for me to tread."

Spike felt anger flare in his own chest, but it was mostly directed at himself.

"Where do you want me?" Buffy demanded.

"A little closer," Sykes accepted her advancing of the proceedings. "Lean forward and I'll place the tip of this," he waved the dagger slightly, "against your eye, which is the very portal to all our memories. It will only take a few seconds, I assure you."

She didn't trust him for a moment, but closer sounded good. So she did as he asked. She had to get to the trigger in his hand. She had to get the dagger away from him. If she had to kill him to do it, she would. Spike would fight off the posse and give her all the time she needed. It was the plan. She just hoped he'd gotten it.

She wondered how old this demon actually was. He looked like he was decomposing. She wrinkled her nose, putting her hands on her knees as her face came to a hovering position not far from his. He seemed to grow extremely concentrated, the hand holding the trigger letting it go as it was brought up to her chin, holding her face steadily.

"Close your eyes," he instructed.

She did so, taking the chance to go over the details. The trigger was to her left, the dagger to her right. She didn't hesitate as she shot one arm out and grabbed a crushing hold of his throat. A hold for a hold. Opening her eyes she rested them in his, but there was no surprise there, no fear for his life. He looked calm and controlled.

A sudden flash appeared before her sight and she wondered if she had actually managed to miss the dagger connecting with her eye the few seconds she had had them closed. But by the second flash there was no doubt what it was. Him. And slowly, but surely, his gaze, so steady in hers, reached into her and pried her hand away. It fell down, and she almost lost her balance, but the hold he still had below her chin supported her.

Close your eyes.

She did.

"Buffy!"

Spike's voice came from someplace distant.

"Buffy!" he repeated, moving forward, but being stopped by four vampires holding him back with brutal force. "Bloody hell! Slayer!"

She didn't hear him anymore. She was anticipating the sting of the dagger. There was no sting, but a coolness as it came to rest against the corner of her eye to the right of her nose.

"Nasselah," Sykes hissed softly, but this time another whisper accompanied the words.

_Slayer_, it said.

"Ih asi tesselah, Nasselah."

_You think you are powerful, Slayer._

"Mekh ih se nakh isa messai."

_But you stand before me, stripped of your protection._

"Isai lekh dai ylakei. Messaieh ih se isaieh."

_I will take it from you. And your only protection will be what I grant you._

"Ihnai elih isa nekh. Tah. Nasselah isai nakhai seh ikai."

_You do not trust me. Good. For I shall strip the Slayer bare of her legacy._

"Lakhai toh."

_Your fight is over._

She felt something pull itself from the base of her neck and through her head, as though tiny strands of hair were being tugged through her flesh, collecting themselves where the dagger was positioned. A twirl of memories attacked her. Glory's face appeared, followed by Adam, by Angelus, Spike and Drusilla, by the Master, by the first vampire she ever dusted, by all the demons in between. Giles giving her his Into-Every-Generation speech, her protecting Willow, Xander, Dawn. Dawn. It began to melt away.

I'm losing myself, the Slayer thought as the essence of her strength disappeared into the blade of the dagger.


	13. Rolling Stone

Hello, dears!

Hope all is well! Thank you so very much for all your reviews! Special thanks to The Zen Garden who reviewed every chapter she read. Very cool, appreciate you taking the time!

Terra (Very nice you thought so! And, ah, making you laugh is lovely! Thanks, girl. Hope you'll like what's up ahead!) :), kim (Oh, that's awesome to read. Thanks so much! I'm thrilled! And the following I hope will be enjoyed...!) :) and Laccramos (Lovely name. Happy you approve and hope you'll do the same with this chappy. Thanks!) :)

Here is another chapter.

All My Love, Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ Rolling Stone ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

Spike was fighting to get loose, kicking one of the vamps in the chest as he punched another in the jaw, ducking for a blow before sweeping a third vampire's legs out from under it. He saw the dagger in Sykes' hand begin to be surrounded by a white glow and his un-beating heart jumped into his throat.

Buffy.

"No!" he exclaimed, running forward just as she fell backwards, hitting the dirty stone floor, unconscious.

Sykes merely smiled, his eyes gleaming with the success of his venture and Spike moved to grab him, but was held back by a pair of strong arms, bringing his own arms behind him and pulling him away from the crippled demon. Sykes began to wrap the dagger in black cloth; his movements eager. Once done, the wheelchair holding him began to roll toward the back of the room, though his arms had nothing to do with it keeping it in motion.

Spike spotted a door, positioned behind the chairs containing the prisoners, and he struggled even harder with the vampire restraining him as the cause for Buffy's lifelessness was getting away.

"Buffy," he then said, looking at her where she was lying. "You need to wake up!" he screamed.

"Alright, I'm awake, I'm awake," Xander's voice was heard as he came to life, pausing as he couldn't move much more than his head; slowly adding: "And I'm tied up. Why am I tied up?"

His gaze landed in Spike's.

"A-ha!" he exclaimed. "What did I tell you?" he added to Giles, who was in the chair beside him.

Then he seemed to notice the Watcher being in the same predicament as him and did a double take, which allowed him to spot Willow. His eyes flashed with fury as he turned them on the vampire again.

"You let us go right now; or... or you know what's gonna happen!"

"I'm sorry," Sykes said, Xander turning his head to him and making a horrified face at the sight of him. It didn't seem to become Sykes in the least as he motioned to the floor behind him. "If you're expecting a forceful rescue, I'm afraid the Slayer doesn't live here anymore."

At that he laughed a dry laugh, the wheelchair wheeling in behind Xander's chair and out the door.

Xander stared at Buffy, his heart beginning to ache with pure anxiety for her. Was she dead? She didn't look dead. Tears blurred his sight and he turned it on Spike again. The murdering beast, he'd kill him with his bare hands if he could just get loose and hopefully have that other vampire still hold him.

Spike leaned forward, bracing himself before straightening up with a jerk, breaking the nose of the vampire restraining him with the back of his head and making him free him with a scream of agony. Spike was beside Buffy the next instant.

"Get away from her!" Xander yelled.

Spike ignored him; carefully lifting her a little, to get to what he knew was at the small of her back. The following second he had dusted his first adversary, the Slayer's stake in a firm grip as he went to meet the attack of the remaining eleven.

"What... what's happening?" Willow murmured, coming to as well.

"Will!" Xander said. "We're in trouble."

"Aching-limbs-pounding-head trouble?"

"Or fangs-to-neck trouble."

"Oh. I hate that kind of trouble. Giles!" Willow's eyes widened when she saw him in the chair between her and Xander. "Is he hurt?"

"We're _all_ a little hurt. Look at that," Xander replied with a nod to the still fighting Spike. "See, you can't even trust him if you're working _with_ him."

Willow frowned.

Spike received a blow to the chin and spun through the air, hitting a wall before falling onto the floor. He got up without a flinch of pain, blood running down the side of his face, his right hand's knuckles bloodied from the punches they kept delivering. He got his labors worth when he dusted his fourth vampire.

He turned around and saw three of the eight remaining slowly approach Buffy. One of them grabbed her arm, pulling her up, its eyes glinting with ownership. The fury which welled up inside the older vampire was apt to burn its way through his skin. He was on the other in a breath, the stake splintering its ribcage on its way to its heart. It was a cloud of dust a second later and Spike caught Buffy before she fell to the ground, carefully placing her at his feet and then moving to deal with the two vamps closest to him.

"I don't think..." Willow said with a glance at Xander.

Xander was beginning to not think, too.

"What is he doing?" he mumbled.

Then he started yanking at his leather bonds, moving his whole body to loosen them.

"Come on," he pleaded.

Willow saw what he was doing and looked down at what was tying her to the chair. It was very thick leather. Jiggling and wiggling probably wouldn't be enough to...

"Hah!" Xander said and when she turned her eyes on him again he had managed to free his right hand.

"Whoa," she smiled and he nodded his agreement, his face astonished. Willow looked to see how Spike was doing, her eyes growing. "Whoa!" she exclaimed at the vampire which was approaching her.

There was a whizzing noise and the demon stopped, eyes surprised as it looked down at the tip of the stake sticking out through his chest. It burst into dust as well, dispersing before her gaze, which landed in Spike's.

"Thanks," she mimed and he gave a nod before ducking at the three charging foes he still had to deal with.

Xander fought to get the knots of his left wrist untied, and finally they came apart, the strap falling to the floor as he leaned forward and got to work on the bonds holding his feet. They weren't as carefully constructed and in another ten seconds he was free. He ran over to Willow, helping her untie hers as well.

"Hurry," she urged as they could hear something hard hit flesh and bone behind them, Spike groaning silently.

Xander's fingers were trembling, both from stress and fear. He had no idea what exactly was going on, but Buffy had been down for count longer than he had seen her for a very, very long time, and for some reason Spike was defending her.

What is he doing? he thought for the fiftieth time, just as the restraints holding Willow finally gave way and she got to her feet, the two of them turning to face the fight just as Spike got kicked in the chest, flying with his back toward them and landing on it a few feet from them. He struggled to get up, but the effort seemed to be working against him this time, and he huffed with pain.

Willow and Xander exchanged a look, then stared at the two vampires still standing. With a battle scream they then ran forward, arms swinging. The vampires tensed, but in the following second they were running to meet the mortals for the clash. Only the humans slowed to a stop in the middle of the room. The vampires, in wonderment, stopped before them.

Willow and Xander reached in to retrieve what they each had in their pant pocket, concealing it in one hand as they brought it out before them, their free hand grabbing the top of the item and pulling it off. They proceeded to choose the direction of their secret weapon and then they squirted the contents of the small bottles they were holding in the faces of the stunned vamps, whose hands went to the spot of impact as the holy water began to sear their flesh and peel it away.

Willow made a face in slight disgust as the two demons caught fire and then went poof.

"I swear I'll never get used to that," she said.

Xander was smiling.

"I'm so glad we took half an hour to practice that routine. I _told_ you it'd come in handy."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed.

They both remembered their fallen comrades – and vampire – and threw the bottles and tops over their shoulders as they ran up to Buffy, kneeling beside her.

"She's alive," Willow said and Xander let out a breath of relief.

"Thank God."

"Or thank Spike, depending on how you wanna look at it," Willow commented, glancing over at the vampire, who was still on the floor.

"Yeah, yeah," Xander muttered, then got to his feet and walked over to him. "Hey," he said.

"Give me a second," Spike murmured, eyes on the ceiling. "I'll be fine. Is she okay?"

Xander clenched his jaws together, then nodded a little. Spike rested his head back against the floor, beginning to relax, but something dark came into his gaze and he mumbled:

"We'll see."

"Oh, aunt Millie, I don't _want_ to wear a tutu!" Giles said loudly, opening his eyes and blinking. His brow knitted at the sight which met him. "What the bloody hell happened here?"

¤

An hour later Spike stepped through the door of Giles' apartment. The Scoobies were already there. They had brought Buffy with them and he was restless to see what state she was in. He had been on a small mission, and he had gotten the answers he had sought, and though they had been the last on the list of possibilities he _didn't_ want, they had been what he had gotten, and so he had had to take them. Time was of the essence now, and they had to move quickly. He walked into the room, filled with purpose. He just hoped they'd listen to him.

"You're not _listening_ to me!" Buffy exclaimed. He felt every fiber he consisted of jolt at the sound of her voice. She was on the couch, surrounded by her closest friends; all of them wearing concerned expressions. "I don't remember!" she added, her head turning and her eyes catching sight of him as he came to a tentative halt in the hall. "Spike!" she said. "Please, explain to them, I don't understand what they want from me!" She looked back at the others. "I've known you all for all these years, and all of a sudden you're acting like this? I don't get it."

"No, we're not 'acting like this'," Xander disagreed. "We just need you to tell us what you _can_ remember."

"We saw each other yesterday, Xand, and you need _me_ to tell _you_?"

"We're not trying to upset you, Buffy; but the thing is you have _amnesia_. Your _memories_ were _taken_," Willow said.

"Yes, I heard you the first eleven times, and talking slower isn't gonna make it realer, Will," Buffy remarked.

"More real," Giles corrected. "And you must comprehend the reason we have for asking you what you can and cannot remember."

"But I can't remember forgetting _anything_!" she exclaimed. "My name's Buffy Summers, my parents are divorced, I lived in Los Angeles and now I live in Sunnydale with my mother, Joyce. I'm a student at UCS. Need me to continue?"

"Why did you leave Los Angeles?" Giles asked and Buffy raised her eyebrows.

"See why they're annoying me?" she asked with a glance at Spike. "You already know why." When all she got was expectant looks from her friends she sighed with discontent, but relented. "The city wasn't safe anymore, according to mother dearest. She got it into her head I'd turn into a gangbanger or something and moved us out here. Which I'm not sad she did, by the way."

"Was there a reason she 'got it into her head', you think?" Giles probed carefully.

Buffy pondered it for a moment, then raised one shoulder in a shrug as she replied:

"The divorce. I think it broke off a lot more of her heart than she lead on and she had to get away. Again with the I'm not sad she did."

Giles listened to her and then turned his eyes on the opened page of the thin book he was holding, reading the first few lines and frowning. He was beginning to understand, and it was a worrying situation indeed. He stood, turning his gaze in Spike's and saying:

"Well?"

Spike came further into the room, looking from one to the other before he fastened his gaze in Buffy's.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She smiled tiredly.

"Apparently I'm fine, apart from the whole memory loss," she shrugged. "But you look..."

She trailed off, eyeing the dried blood all over him.

He smiled it away, signing to Giles to follow him into the study beyond the kitchen. Giles gave a nod and they disappeared from sight.

Buffy got off the couch, walking into the bathroom and filling a bowl with water, getting a fresh cloth from the kitchen and sinking it into the hot liquid. She walked back into the bathroom, getting the first aid kit Giles kept there. Then she sat down again, waiting.

"Was I right?" Spike asked, facing Giles in the guestroom.

"It's very early to try to determine any sort of..."

"I was right," Spike stopped him. "What Sykes did... He stole her, didn't he? The slayer. There's nothing left of her in Buffy. Is there?"

Giles shook his head in brief confirmation and Spike suddenly noticed how worn the Watcher looked.

"Sykes has been asking around about Glory," he therefore informed, feeling the faster they got to the root of the problem, the quicker they would be able to pull it out and chuck it away.

Giles looked taken aback.

"Did _you_...?"

"No!" Spike interrupted with an annoyed look at the other. "I haven't been a source like that since I bloody started killing off demons." At the expression on Giles' face he smirked slightly. "Alright, maybe a little after that." Giles raised his eyebrows, but judgment could come later. "Willy told me there's been something of an arrangement between Sykes and Glory for a while now," Spike stated.

"What sort of arrangement?"

"Willy didn't know. But I'm willing to bet it has something to do with Sykes' state of frame, and Glory's non-ending almightiness."

"She'll make him well, you mean? In exchange for Buffy?" Giles checked himself. "Buffy's memories," he corrected.

Spike waited for him to continue with his view on this, but he merely took his glasses off, polishing them as the wheels of his head seemed to whirr cautiously.

"If this is so, there's no way to prevent it, is there? We can't get near Glory, especially not without the Slayer."

"Sykes is so bloody paranoid he'd probably have his own mother strip searched. If he had one. He won't make the exchange in the midst of Glory's minions. They'll be somewhere neutral."

"Neutral?"

Spike thought about it for a moment.

"The mansion," he then said and Giles furrowed his brow.

"The mansion?"

"The mansion," Spike nodded his affirmation. "That's where it'll happen."

They headed back to the living room, Willow being in the kitchen as the tea was just ready. She was pouring the water into cups, but paused to give them both a questioning look when they walked past. Giles joined her and Spike knew he'd tell her what he had just been told by him. Buffy turned herself around on the couch, one arm over the back, looking at him as he entered the living room.

"Come here," she said and he couldn't hold back a quizzical crinkle between his eyebrows as he came up to her. "Here," she elaborated, pointing to the place beside her.

He sat down and she placed a hand against his chest, making him lean back as her other hand reached for the wet cloth. She wrenched it out and then brought it to his forehead, meticulously beginning to clean the blood off.

"You don't have to..." he began, but she hushed him softly, continuing her work under silence.

The water in the bowl was turning red as his skin was becoming more and more spotless. She made him lift his chin and proceeded with his throat and neck, lifting the hem of his T and realizing how many cuts he'd actually gotten.

"Why did they do this to you?" she murmured, but he could tell she wasn't expecting an answer.

She didn't know that he was a vampire, she didn't remember the times she had looked just as he did now. She was human, straight through, and anything related to a Slayer's world had been removed from her mind. A new light of innocence was behind the green of her irises, and in a way he regretted having to take it away. But in a larger one he missed her. This wasn't the woman he had come to know, if so only from a far; at least far from all of her.

She put the cloth in the bowl, taking it from her lap and placing it on the table before she sunk back next to him. He noticed Giles had cleaned a lot of the mess up, and most of the furniture was back where it was supposed to be. But there was still work that had to be done as books were littering the floor and a window was smashed, its splinters still shimmering on its sill.

"You need a shower," Buffy now said. "To get all of it off."

He smiled.

"I'll take one," he promised.

When the opportunity presents itself.

"What?" he heard Willow's voice come loudly from the kitchen, Giles shushing her. "We can't fight Glory _and_ Sykes without the Slayer, there's no way."

Spike got to his feet with a smile to Buffy. She returned it easily. He walked into the kitchen, where Xander had joined Willow and Giles a little earlier. All eyes turned on him.

"Dawn's in danger," he said.

"When isn't she?"

"Glory wants to know where the Key is. The answer's in those memories."

Willow's eyes grew round.

"But..."

She couldn't get anything else out.

"So what do we do?" Xander asked.

"You three act as diversions. I get the dagger back."

"You're not strong enough yet. You could barely stand an hour ago!" Willow protested.

"I won't let her down," he said. "Or the Bit... We have no bloody choice, Red. We don't get that dagger and all hell 'll break loose."

Xander stared at him for a long moment, then finally said:

"What _happened_ to you in there?"

Willow looked over at Buffy.

"Let's do it," Giles said.

"What kind of diversions?" Willow asked as they filed out into the living room again.

"You'll think of something. 'S what you do," Spike smirked, turning to Buffy, who had risen from the couch with a wondering expression.

"What's going on?"

"We have to leave for a while," Giles said, walking up to a desk and grabbing a shoulder bag, opening a drawer and starting to fill the bag with various magic supplies, after he had tossed in the book from which he had been extracting information ever since they returned to his apartment.

"Alright. Where are we going?" she asked.

"You have to stay here," he replied.

"What?" she said. "Why wouldn't you want me to come? I know I suck at bowling, but if that's where you're going I'll just sit and watch. I promise! I can do the sideline thing. Used to be a cheerleader, you know."

"Buffy!" Giles said, reproachful for a reason she couldn't understand, but before she could discern it he looked away again.

Willow took a step forward.

"You can't come this time," she said and Buffy had a small pout appear on her mouth.

"Why not?"

"Because we have to fight a demon and a hellgod and there's no telling how it'll end, and the last thing we need is someone tagging along with no inclination to believe they even exist," Spike replied in Willow's stead, Buffy staring at him, then smiling widely. He merely cocked an eyebrow. "See?"

He walked past Giles toward the front door, being handed a crossbow by Xander, who had grabbed a sword for himself.

"But, wait a minute," Buffy stopped them all. "You're just gonna leave me here? I mean, if this is part of what I've 'forgotten'... I could try handling one of these," she added, walking up to the chest containing Giles' weapons. She hesitated, then grabbed a crossbow as well. "Wow," she said, staggering a little. "Heavy."

But Spike was soon at her side, taking it gently out of her hands and replacing it where it belonged.

"Stay here," he said. "We'll be back before you know it. Try and get some sleep."

She looked at him.

"I don't want you to go," she mumbled. "I've got a funny feeling down my back."

He smiled.

"Can't get rid of those spider senses, can you, love?"

She smiled, not following, but it didn't matter.

"See you soon," he promised, turning and walking up to the door.

The others followed and she stood alone, watching them leave.


	14. For the Love of

Hello, dears!

Here come the final three chapters of this story! I am contemplating a sequel – or rather a follow-up – but I daren't make any promises whatsoever to when it would be posted or even if I'll be able to write it at all (and I do so hate disappointing you so I really daren't!), as the coming few months are volatile and I have no real idea what they'll bring. Safe to say I'll be moving to another country, but there's a whole array of different questions surrounding it right now. Nothing serious, just things that bother my mind. Anyways, it's been so great writing this story, I've loved it! It's been an idea I've had for such a long time and it felt so good to be able to put it out there, and even better to have it so well received by all of you. I thank you, I thank you, I thank you.

Terra (haha, you sure about that:) Aw, thanks so much! Isn't it nice, though, seeing them all I'll-back-you-uppety? Why thank you again for the Xander comments. So very pleased they're to your liking, girl! And I'm not a big fan of those either. It's so not Xander. And it's been great having you with me on this story! Thanks for the R&R!) :), kim (Sure is. And snickergiggle! Oh, come on, you know the Gang, they're much too positive in their thinking to believe something's actually going to go wrong! And thanks for your encouragement throughout the story, girl!) ;),

Ari (Don't mind you asking at all. And actually I got an email from Mandi at VK the other day, urging me very nicely to archive my work there, and so I actually am. Can you believe it! As for the other sites, I've started posting there, but then it's just taken too long to go around to three sites for maintenance – I know, I'm a total lazybug, but that's the gospel truth – and I've just stopped, and kept to I am contemplating a trial run, see how it works. I mean, archiving my stories is never a bad idea, I've found. Anyways, reaching more people is never a bad thing. Thanks for the push, I'm totally mulling it over!) :)

starhawk (lovely you thought so! And thanks for the sticking with the story. Your reviews are so very appreciated!)

To all – it's been my pleasure. Now I hope you'll enjoy the final chappies.

Love you! – Annie.

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ For the Love of ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

"Anya'll be sorry she missed this," Xander muttered.

He and Willow were climbing the side of the hill on which the mansion was situated, and it wasn't far to go, but he felt like they'd been at it to the point of making it not so much worth it any longer. In the spirit of getting his mind off it he kept up with the chitchat. He knew Willow didn't mind.

"She loves midnight excursions," he now added to his former sentence. Willow raised her eyebrows and he smirked. "Well, we've only ever gotten as far as the backyard."

"Xander!" Willow said, though she smiled as well.

"What, you and Tara don't do stuff like that?"

"No!" she laughed, keeping the smile on as she added: "Besides, even if we were, it's none of your business."

"My best friend's business is none of my business!" he asked, baffled.

Her smile widened as they neared the top of the hill and they began to crouch down.

"It's like we're playing cops and robbers again," Xander said, looking back at her.

"Only without the fun," she nodded and he smirked.

"Okay, now all we have to do is wait for the signal," he stated.

"Signal?"

"Yeah. The one from Giles."

"Which was?"

"He said he'd tell _you_!" Xander hissed, panic shining in his eyes.

"Well," Willow said, eyes just as panicked. "He _did_!"

"I'll go find him. We can't burst out unexpectedly if we don't know when to do it!"

He was about to run down the hill again when he realized what Willow had actually said and he gave her a very dark glare. She was already giggling.

"Oh, yes, that was the plan: an ambush with a chuckle intro. They'll be _so_ surprised."

¤

Giles squatted down behind a bush, the mansion towering less than fifteen yards away. He brought the bag into his lap, unzipping it and beginning to rummage through it. Finally he found what he was looking for, bringing the book out. He opened it, his fingers trembling slightly and he shook them in irritation. He never got nervous. But this situation was extraordinary, and it would take an extraordinary feat for the vampire to pull this off.

The Watcher pushed all thoughts of that away, focusing on what he was trying to do.

Beginning to read off the page he brought out a candle, and lit it.

¤

Buffy walked down the street with a feeling of aggravation in her chest. She couldn't understand why her friends would treat her like that, what could've urged them to leave her behind when they never had before; but she had the most uncanny notion that they were about to put themselves in danger, and the worry was like little bees buzzing around her ears. She couldn't think about anything but that and here she was, walking to try and find them. She had seen them head this way and she hoped to run into them soon; or at least a sign of them.

But what had been the deal with the weapons? Really! Maybe they were martial arts freaks and they'd not told her or included her because... they knew she wasn't really into the whole violence scene and probably wouldn't listen with more than a quarter of an ear. Or they were afraid she'd hurt herself. Or...

She shook her head. It didn't make any sense. Why wouldn't they tell her?

And what, they're closeted magicians on top of that? she asked herself. But how could they have hid that from me all these years? Yeah, maybe they're at the local Holiday Inn, putting on a magic show and being too embarrassed to invite me, that's logical. Because Spike, Mr. I'm-Too-Cool-To-Show-Any-Emotion-Ever, would choose to appear in public in a glittering cape pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

No, she had a hard time seeing that. Though it was kinda fun to picture.

But then, what had Giles been putting in that bag?

¤

Spike pushed the side door of the huge dwelling open, slipping inside and becoming one of the shadows of the antechamber he entered. Slinking along the wall he reached a doorway leading into the large hall which had hosted Angel and him at different times. A fire was blazing in the fireplace and he felt a surge of satisfaction that he'd been right when Sykes came wheeling into sight. He had an almost fanatic expression on, the smile in place as he leaned over a low table. Spike understood it had to contain the dagger; nothing else could cause that much excitement in the rodent.

There had to be guards, but he couldn't see any. In fact, he hadn't seen any at all, even posted outside.

"Odd, is it, Mr. Kingsley?" Sykes asked and his voice echoed its loneliness through the room.

Spike tensed, but moved forward, into sight. Sykes' smile widened.

"Can you stop calling me that?" Spike grumbled.

"Gone, is he?"

The vampire tried to stare the other demon down, but finally answered:

"Yes."

Sykes smirked.

"Devious are the things we tell ourselves in lieu of getting what we want."

"You do like riddles, don't you?" Spike huffed.

"To get the demon, you buried your soul. To get the girl...?" Spike's face filled with quiet understanding of what Sykes was getting at and the demon looked pleased. "Ah, yes. To get the girl, you are awakening it, aren't you? Be it consciously or not, Mr. Kingsley. And now you have come to prove yourself to her. To right the wrong you believe I've done her. Tell me, do you really think it so? You know she doesn't want to be the Slayer. She's said so many times, hasn't she? In reality this is a blessing," he said, patting the dagger meaningfully. "I did her a favor."

Spike smiled a half smile, shaking his head.

"You don't know her," he said.

"Oh?" Sykes asked.

"It wasn't her choice to be born with her powers, and yeah, she can be a buggering pain complaining 'bout what a sodding burden it is. But she chooses to carry it. She can walk away, but she chooses to stay. Robbing her of the Slayer in her is taking away her right to make that choice. Can't let you do that, mate."

Sykes smiled again.

"Insightful," he said. "Then again, you did spend a few hours inside her mind. I have a lot of it right here," he added, bringing the dagger into the view of the vampire. "She'll forget what a devil you are, Spike. Isn't that what you really want?"

"No," he shook his head. "I want her to deal with it. ...It's the only chance I have of ever deserving her."

Sykes laughed his dry laugh again.

"Seems like you found new sides of yourself, and not only her, didn't you?" he said. "I'm afraid, though, it's far from enough. And it's too late." A band of vampires slowly entered the room from all sides and Spike felt his heart sink. "Ready for another thrashing?" Sykes inquired wickedly.

¤

"At least Glory's not here," Xander said.

"How do you know?" Willow wondered.

"Birds are chirping, the stars are out, there's no chill down my back."

She smiled, peaking over the edge of the hill, by which they were lying, and looking at the mansion thirty yards away.

"But she'll probably be here soon," she murmured. "Is everything ready?"

"Everything's ready."

She felt her insides churn with misgivings, but she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on focusing her energy at what she was supposed to do.

¤

"Take the flame," Giles said, touching the candle and then holding his hand palm up before he brought the blade of a knife to it. "Take the flesh," he said, placing a deep cut along his life line. "And grant me what I ask of you."

He made his hand into a fist, the blood dripping into the grass.

"Take the flame," he repeated, bringing his fist over it, a drop falling and mixing with the melted wax. "Take the flesh. And grant me what I ask of you."

¤

Buffy's determined steps slowed when she raised her head and her eyes landed on the large structure of a building high above her. She got the most familiar feeling from it, and yet she couldn't remember when she'd been there. She hesitated. They had all told her to stay at Giles'. But then she shook it off and started up the winding road leading to the mansion.

¤

Spike kept his eyes in Sykes', ignoring the posse gathering around them.

"I need that dagger. If you're not too eager to see how it feels through your throat, I suggest you bleeding well hand it over."

Sykes smirked.

"You are as cocky as ever; and dangerously outnumbered. I suggest you check that need you have of letting your mouth run away with your head."

"You sound awfully sure," Spike said. "What makes you think I'd ever be cocky enough to come here without backup?"

As if he had heard him utter those words, Giles' part of the plan was set in motion.

There was a boom outside which shook the ground, and Sykes' eyes grew with agitation. He signed to the vampires to see what was going on. The one who seemed to be the leader gave a nod and waved to half the vamps to come with him. They disappeared outside. Eight were left. But at the shouts of surprise which came from the ones who had just left, four more of them ran for the front door to come to their aid. Spike hoped they weren't too many for the Scoobies to handle.

Sykes looked furious, the smile having finally left his thin lips.

"Idiots," he murmured, looking closely at Spike, narrowing his eyes. "It's a trick. It's a trick!" he then yelled to the vampires remaining, but Spike had already faced them and he knew it wouldn't take long to get rid of them. At least one of them had fledgling reeking from it.

"Here's how we do this," he said. "First we shimmy to the left." He did, the vamps eyeing him with stale faces. "Then we slide to the right." He did that, too, smirking. Tilting his head to the side. "You're in trouble if you don't know the steps," he remarked.

There was another second's stillness, and then they all moved forward, Spike readying himself for the fight.

¤

"What if something's happened?" Xander said.

"Nothing's happened," Willow reassured.

"What if he's been hit over the head and is lying in a bush somewhere?"

"He won't let himself be hit over the head at a time like this!" she stated.

"Has he ever _let_ himself be hit over the head?" Xander remarked, but then the sky seemed to explode down toward them, loose pebbles skidding down the slope around them, and they both looked up.

Every single star seemed to be falling, over and over and over, painting the sky streaked with gilded and glittering tails of light as they found their way across the blackness.

"That the sign?" Xander inquired.

"It's so pretty," Willow said, jaw dropped. Then she collected herself. "Up and at 'em," she added, climbing the short way they had left up the hill and standing just as the first vampire came running out the door.

"Up and at _them_!" Xander exclaimed, having just straightened up beside her and spotting the fiend as well.

Willow put her palms together, closing her eyes and concentrating hard before she parted them and let loose a ball of fire. It sailed gracefully through the air, missing the head vamp completely, but smashing against the side wall of the mansion and causing a pretty impressive dent in its stone, showing what it could have done to the demon, had it hit its mark.

"Willow!" Xander yelled, grabbing his sword as the vampires, which had followed outside, stared at the scorched part of the mansion and began to growl. "They're making the Wanna-Bite-Something face. All of them are. Can't you blow on it, or something?" he wondered as she was struggling to conjure another fireball.

"Want some ass with that wisdom?" she shot, voice strained from the task she was under.

"That's actually pretty funny," Xander smirked just as she parted her palms again.

This time it hit the charging leader in the chest and went into him, resting there for a moment before the fire spread fingers of light through him and he was dust.

"Yes! Alright, Willow!" Xander cheered. "Okay, make another one and I'll try and lure them closer. Or... fight them off while you concentrate," he added as five vamps were rapidly approaching. "Whichever works best."

¤

Giles lost his balance when his offering was accepted and the diversion he had decided to contribute with was blasting itself from the sky. He smiled as he looked up; remembering a moment when he was a little younger and someone had used this kind of magic to catch his attention. It sure had worked. He looked at the hand he had wounded and felt reassured when the cut was completely gone.

"Astinei," he said his thanks, just as the vampires came running out through the front door of the mansion.

And now to something else, he thought, grabbing the book again, opening it at the middle and hastily beginning to read.

¤

Buffy's heart jumped into overdrive when the dark of night was suddenly lit by what seemed like a million shooting stars, all appearing at once. She had never seen anything like it. She stood still for a while, taking in the incredible sight above, but felt the need to get herself moving and so she began walking again. She was nearing the summit. Soon the road would flatten out and the mansion would stand before her.

She wasn't exactly sure what she'd do once she reached it. Perhaps she'd just sit down and watch the marvel of the sky.

The mansion finally came into view and she smiled to herself. She was slightly out of breath, but she felt good now that the walk was completed and her goal lie in sight. She came to a halt when she saw Willow throw something that was on fire on a large man running toward her and not only did she hit him in the chest, in a second his entire body was glowing from the inside and then, in the next blink, it was as if he'd never even existed.

Buffy gaped at the sight even more than she had at the sky falling down.

"What's going on?" she murmured.

¤

Spike punched one vamp, spinning around and kicking one in the head, ducking as a third was aiming a blow to his neck and kicking a leg out, his foot connecting with the demon's stomach, bringing his stake out and sinking it in the chest of the fourth. He grabbed the first vampire's arm, as he was about to deliver a punch to his side, and got rid of it as well. Dust was flying as the second vamp attacked from the front and Spike took three well-aimed hooks to his chin before he countered with three of his own to the vampire's cheek. Then he jumped up and kicked both remaining vamps in the chest, sending them flying. He turned in the air, landing facing Sykes, who was still holding the dagger.

"Give it here," Spike gritted out.

"I'd rather find out what it feels like through my throat," Sykes smirked.

"So be it," Spike said, turning around and sinking the stake through the ribcage of the charging vampire.

¤

Willow directed her second fireball at one of the charging vampires, but they were coming closer very quickly and she didn't think that she could take them all out.

"You're gonna have to fight," she said to Xander.

"I know, I have a sword," he replied meaningfully, though his brow was crowned by pearls of sweat.

"I'll take the ones on the sides if you take the ones in the middle," she offered.

"The ones in the middle are the bigger ones; I should take the ones on the sides."

"Hey, where's the gallantry?"

"You're wielding fire, I have to stick this in the right place and the place isn't larger than my fist. Do you _remember_ the summer I took up archery?"

Willow gave him a petrified look.

"You take the ones on the sides," she agreed, letting another ball of fire loose and it hit the vampire farthest to the right of the procession, which slowed slightly as he burst into dust.

"You took one of mine!"

"It's my aim," she apologized. "But really it's a good thing, now you take one of mine and we'll call it even."

"Okay," he nodded. "Hey!"

He didn't get a chance to argue his point as he had to move forward to meet the attack. He did so with a very manly growl and a swing of the sword which, he thought, though it was but a mere copy of one of Buffy's moves, worked quite well.

The vampire roared with pain as the blade of the sword got caught in its wrist and Xander yanked to get it loose.

Willow released another fireball and it hit the vampire she had wanted it too, which made her smile widely. She was almost trembling from the excruciatingly exhausting act of drawing energy from the earth to create friction enough for the fire to form, but she wasn't finished yet, and began the process all over again.

"Willow!"

She frowned. She had thought she heard something before, but... Turning her head to look behind her she stared at the form running toward her.

"Buffy!" she yelled. "Don't! Go back!"

"I will _not_!" Buffy said, stopping before her and staring at her hands, between which a light was glowing. "What is that? What's going on? Oh, my God, what's Xander doing!"

Willow faced the vampires and threw the ball at one of the ones who had decided to turn and run back to the makeshift safety of the mansion. Buffy's eyes were huge when she turned back to her.

"You... you... It was. In your hand. You held it in your hand?" she stuttered and Willow looked back at Xander as he finally got the sword loose and drew his arm back, aiming it with care at the cringing vampire which was holding its severed wrist.

Then he put the blade through its chest and it turned into dust. He raised both arms in a victorious gesture before turning to Willow with a huge smile.

"I can too. Did you see that? Oh," he stopped himself, spotting Buffy. "D-did you see that?" he added.

"Okay, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"Where'd all the demons go?" Xander asked, looking around.

"I didn't mean 'hell' literally," Buffy remarked.

Willow and Xander stared at each other, then looked at the doorway leading into the building where they spotted the back of the last vampire disappear out of view.

"Spike," they said with one voice, getting themselves moving, Xander grabbing the sword from the ground.

"Spike?" Buffy said, watching them start to run away from her. "Spike's in _there_!" she then yelled, running after them.

¤

The final vamp was standing a few yards away, watching his colleague disintegrate. Spike lowered his arm, gripping the stake and tilting his head a little to the side. The other vamp eyed him, then moved forward and Spike met him, kicking him in the side, then in the head, then in the side, sending him stumbling off balance. Spike was on him, raising the stake and sinking it through the heart of his opponent. He got to his feet to avoid most of the dust, spinning around at the sound of running feet.

Six of the vamps who had left before now came returning inside and his eyebrows rose.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled.

¤

"Detei sah dakh harash lei. Mentei ih kahl inatai. Fei dui minh isai lih."

Giles reread the sentence again. Then his eyes left the book and he looked up as he thought he heard Buffy's voice. He stared at the forms of Willow and Xander, who ran in through the front door of the mansion, and he dropped the book when Buffy wasn't late to follow.

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear, oh, dear," he said, quickly getting to his feet.


	15. All at Once

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ All at Once ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

Spike observed the vampires, his hold on the stake hardening. At least he hadn't had his face bashed in as much as the last time. Seemed Sykes had brought his most muscle of his muscle men to the retrieval of the memory, and these were skilled fighters, but not nearly as developed. Well, at least the four he had just dusted hadn't been. He could only hope the six remaining followed the same pattern. They sure looked pissed, though.

Suddenly the space behind them was lit up and one of them began to glow before turning into dust. Spike raised his eyebrows.

"Neat," he commented. "Can you all do that?"

Then Willow came into sight, and he smirked as Xander showed up right behind her. There they were. Was this how Buffy felt when her friends came to the rescue?

Ah, but they're not my friends, he corrected himself. Oh, no, he added as he suddenly saw Buffy halt behind them, her eyes big with all they had to take in. Oh, no.

Three of the vampires turned with harmonized growls to the newer addition to the room, Willow's hands already firing up. Xander raised his sword, looking like he'd gotten a new speck of self-confidence. Two of the vamps turned to Spike and he smiled.

"Fellows, why must we fight when we can settle this in a friendly manner?" They exchanged a glance with each other, then looked back at him. "Of course, I'm joking," he said, moving forward and they met him, one getting a hit in his side as he avoided a punch to the face.

"Do the thing! Do the thing!" Xander encouraged Willow.

"I'll do the thing to _you_ if you don't shut your yap!" she exclaimed, releasing the fireball and hitting one of the three vampires.

"What's wrong with their faces?" Buffy's voice was heard.

"Sorry if I'm nagging," Xander apologized to Willow.

"No, no, I think it helps," she said and smiled. "Better raise your sword," she added and he did so when a vampire moved closer.

"Do the thing! Do the thing!"

Spike backed away from his attackers, making them split up and he looked from one to another, trying to get a game plan into his head.

Stake through heart, that's all I need.

He nodded. That was all he needed.

"Spike!"

He turned around at the sound of Giles' voice. The Watcher had come through the same side door he had and looked utterly frazzled.

"What?" the vampire asked.

"The dagger," Giles said. "You have to destroy it."

"What?" he repeated.

"Destroy it! It'll restore Buffy's memory!"

Spike turned his head to Sykes, who looked like he could strangle Giles before spinning the wheelchair around and starting for the second backdoor.

"Oh, no, you do not!" Spike exclaimed, running after him and being tackled by one of the vampires.

"Jesus!" Buffy said at the sight of it; Willow having just burned her way through the last of the vamps blocking their way.

Buffy ran across the room, but the vampire not wrestling with Spike stepped in her path and made her come to a screeching stop.

"Hi," she said.

"Slayer," it growled.

"Oh... wow. Um. Mix-up and so actually, I think, no. Not the Slayer. Whatever that is. Big, huge, fat, old mistake. So, excuse me while I..." she ended the sentence with a yelp as the demon grabbed her by the neck, did a spin with her and thrust her into a nearby wall. "Ow," she said, grabbing her head as her ears were ringing from the impact.

"Buffy!" Spike yelled.

The vampire he had on him put an elbow between his shoulder blades, holding him down, but there was the sound of a fist on wood as Giles' foot connected with its jaw and got it off him. He got to his feet, seeing Xander raise his sword in defense as three vamps surrounded him. Willow was charging her batteries once more, eyes fixed on the two vampires slowly circling her. Spike turned his head to Giles.

"Go!" the Watcher yelled, grabbing an old, broken board and raising it as he ran toward the vampire crowding Buffy.

Spike scrambled after Sykes, who had disappeared out the door. The demon hadn't gotten far, but had received backup in the form of six new vamps. Sykes stopped the wheelchair, spinning it around to face the master vampire.

"Soon she'll be here, and then all is lost," Sykes smirked.

Spike felt a new wave of wrath rise at those words, and he was about to run forward when he heard Buffy calling his name. A moment later she was in the doorway he had just come through.

"What are you doing?" he growled. "You stay inside!" he added, putting a hand at her shoulder and making her walk backwards in through the doorway again.

Her hand went to his and she stopped him from walking back outside.

"I can't remember why, exactly, but it feels like there's something... I wanna tell you..."

He eyed her.

"You can tell me when this is over."

"No, I have to tell you now."

He smiled at her conviction, then pulled himself away from her, knowing that what he had to do was more important than anything. She took a step after him, trying to hold him back but losing her grip as he walked outside.

She leaned against the wall as Giles came up beside her.

"Is he out there?"

She nodded. He didn't hesitate before he proceeded outside.

Xander kicked one leg out and hit one vampire on the shin, making him stagger as he spun around to locate Willow. He could see her strength was waning. The fire wasn't as strong, their shape lessening in size.

"It's enough," he said as she stopped the new one she was making, her arms falling along her sides. She met his gaze, grateful but regretful. He shook his head. "It's enough," he repeated.

There was one vamp left, but it was almost knocked out as it was. Xander grabbed a tighter hold on his sword and stalked up to it, raising the heavy blade and bringing it down hard, cutting the vamp's head off and having its ashes spread across the floor. He drew a slight breath before walking up to Willow, grabbing her around the waist, supporting her as they made their way over to the spot he had seen Giles disappear.

Buffy closed her eyes as she heard the fighting begin beyond the door. Her heart was pounding, but her insides were numbed with fright. For their lives, for hers. Her mind was reeling from the things she had seen in the past twenty minutes.

"Buffy," Willow said softly.

"What's the use of this?" she whispered, and the pain in her eyes when she opened them went straight into the Wicca.

"I wish I knew," she mumbled.

Xander moved forward and disappeared out the doorway as well. Buffy could tell Willow was completely spent.

"Rest here," she said with a small smile before sliding to the doorway as well, peeking around the doorframe and having her eyes grow at the fierceness of the battle.

Everything happened so fast. Xander got into the fight, swinging the sword too high and just missing a vamp's head as it ducked and delivered a kick to his side, making him loose his breath and drop the sword. As the vamp grabbed him, Spike kicked it in the knees, having it loose its balance and fall on the ground still holding Xander. But the mortal managed to roll away just as Spike got the sword onto one of his feet, kicking it up into the air and grabbing it before bringing it into the chest of the vampire. It was dust and Spike offered Xander back his weapon. The mortal took it with a nod of gratitude. Spike kicked up a leg and hit a charging vampire in the throat, then at the side of the head before spinning around and placing a stake in its heart.

Giles was fighting his own vampire, but found a way to reach Sykes and did so successfully, hitting him over the jaw and making him loose grip of the dagger, which tumbled to the ground. He yelled for Spike to break it to pieces, and the vampire spotted it, hitting a vamp on the chin as he ran for the weapon. But he didn't see the kick coming from another vampire, and it brought him to his knees with its sheer force. He found his balance with one hand on the ground, facing the doorway and his eyes met Buffy's just as the point of the dagger pierced its way through the skin of his chest. Buffy's eyes widened with shock and then she was running towards him.

He tried to make her stop, tried to make her go back, but the hurt which pulsated through him was blinding. He felt her warm hands on his face as he lost his balance and tumbled to the side. The dagger was torn out of him again. He didn't know pain could travel that fast.

Buffy's eyes were blurred with tears, but she got to her feet with a new emotion burning in her stomach and the revenge she needed traveled into her limbs. Before she could react she had kicked out one leg, hitting the vampire who had driven the dagger into Spike, square on the cheek and sending it stumbling to the side, the dagger flying through the air and landing, point stuck in the earth, only a few feet away from her.

"Destroy it!" Giles shouted at her, ducking to avoid a blow. "Buffy, take the dagger and destroy it! Do you hear me!"

She stared at Spike, feeling how her insides came to a slow stop and then somehow began to run in reverse. She wasn't thinking anymore. She merely listened to Giles' voice and did as it instructed. She reached forward and grabbed the dagger.

"No!" someone screamed, but she discarded it, drawing her arm back and turning toward the mansion.

In one fluid movement she then threw the dagger straight at the stone wall and the next moment it was smashed to pieces against it. They fell glittering into the grass beneath it and she felt threads begin to pull their way through her head. An ache started with them and soon it turned into a beating of her brain. She went down on the ground, hands to her head.

"No!" Sykes screamed again. "I can't believe it," he breathed. "I cannot believe it."

Suddenly Buffy was on her feet, her eyes finding his.

"Believe it," the Slayer said.

She took the steps parting them, Xander tossing her his sword and she caught it easily, swinging it once tryingly, the second swing being aimed at Sykes. It cut its way through his throat with ease and lodged itself there for a dragged out second before the weight of it severed the head from the neck. She backed away from him. His whole body was quaking, and then he began to rot, his flesh falling apart. The wheel chair toppled over from his movements and in another few seconds there was nothing left of him but his clothes.

Giles turned his eyes in the vampire's he'd been fighting, both of them having been staring at the scene. The vamp looked at Buffy, then back at Giles, and then it turned and began to run for all that it was worth. Buffy cocked an eyebrow.

"Good fight," she commented and Giles smiled.

She kneeled next to Spike, moving his duster to the side and checking the wound. It was clean, it would heal nicely. She smiled a little, moving her eyes to his.

"All this for me?" she wondered.

He smirked.

"Don't let it go to your bloody head, Slayer," he muttered.

"Admit it. You'd miss me if I was gone," she teased, grabbing his arm and helping him get to his feet, proceeding with placing the arm around her shoulders for support.

He smiled a little, rather unable to take his eyes off her face.

"Know what?" he then said. "I think I would."

¤

Glory stopped in the middle of the large room, looking around at the burn marks decorating the walls. She raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't do this," she commented.

"Oh, but you could have, you most magnificentness," one of her minions said immediately, bowing in reverence.

"Shut up," she muttered, leading the entourage through the room and to the short hall taking them to a backdoor.

She stepped through it, spotting the overturned wheel chair and walking up to it.

"Great," she sighed, making one wheel spin slowly with a well-manicured nail. "Guess that's that for _his_ plan."

"But, naturally, a plan such as this was _yours_, most splendificated!"

She hit the minion over the mouth, frowning.

"My plan wouldn't have backfired, you moron!"

"Of course not, oh, my holiest of holinesses."

"Of course not," she agreed, looking at the scene detachedly. "So then. We go back to the apartment," she ordered. "And pick me up a snack on the way."

"Male or female, most wondrous Glorificus?"

She gave a shrug.

"Either."

¤

"No, mom, everything's fine. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call earlier."

"I'm just happy everything's alright."

"Me too. I'll stay here tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. Sleep tight."

Buffy smiled.

"I'll try."

She hung up, turning to Willow and Xander, who were sitting staring into space. She smiled, walking into the living room and up to the couch, where Spike was lying. She had bandaged his wound, no matter how much he protested that she needn't bother. Now she looked down at him questioningly.

"You ready to go home?"

"He can stay here tonight," Giles said, taking a mouthful of tea from the cup in his hands, coming down from upstairs.

Buffy gave him a surprised look.

"It's okay, I'll take him," she said.

"But then you'll have to go there and then back and, yes, it is a little bit closer than your home, but if you're sleeping here anyway. All of you stay. There's plenty of room."

"Sounds good," Xander said, apathetically.

"I'm in," Willow agreed, as lethargic.

"Willow, Buffy, you can take the guestroom. Xander can sleep on a mattress. Spike looks comfortable where he is," Giles directed.

"And where will you sleep?" Xander asked.

"Fun," Willow commented. "I'm so tired I only said fun when I was supposed to say funny. Going now," she added, getting to her feet and dragging them through the short hall leading to the guestroom.

"Right behind you," Buffy said, glancing down at the vampire, feeling torn.

She had felt safe tonight, when she finally remembered everything again and saw that he was there – she had felt protected by a strength which measured her own. It had been a good feeling. A really good feeling. She hadn't felt it in a very long time.

Xander followed Giles, moaning with every step, to the upstairs closet to get the mattress stuffed in there. Buffy looked at Spike, who was studying her.

"You said you had something to tell me," he reminded.

She raised her eyebrows.

"I don't remember," she said, sinking down on her knees on the floor next to the couch, folding her arms under her chin and resting it on the cushion right by his shoulder.

He smiled slightly.

"Had a feeling you wouldn't," he murmured.

"You doing any better?"

"Doesn't even hurt anymore," he assured, moving a little, and she smiled.

"That's good."

They rested their eyes in the others for a while longer, and then she cleared her throat silently, sitting up and getting to her feet.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning to leave when his fingers graced hers and made her stop.

The simple touch sent a current through her, making her body feel heavy with slow longing.

Couldn't it have gone away?

She turned back to him, sinking down on the edge of the couch as he sat up, his hands moving into her hair. Shivers scurried over her shoulders. This was him. Really him. Not a thought, not a memory, not a fantasy or a dream, but him. Her hands rested on his upper arms, eyes in his, but they slid up as they both moved their head forward, their lips meeting and the kiss deepening almost instantly.

Her arms went around him as she moaned quietly, his taste the same, but more intense. She pressed herself closer to him; her hands straying from his neck to his shoulders, down his arms and up again; taking in the coolness of his skin, feeling her own kindle beneath his fingertips.

She couldn't believe that he was actually able to instill these emotions in her. She didn't know how she'd be able to bring herself away from him. She was ready to share the couch with him. She needed his nearness.

Her hands slipped down his chest as she deepened the kiss once more, and then he flinched, pulling away from her. Her hands had reached the bandage. She looked remorseful.

"I'm sorry. You okay?"

He smiled. It was odd to have her wear that expression because of him.

"Better than ever," he replied.

She smiled back, but then it slowly disappeared and she grew solemn, taking her hands away and placing them in her lap.

It didn't matter how much she wanted to be close to him; that was all she wanted, all she could want, and it wasn't right. She couldn't take it, it would be stealing. It wasn't hers to own.

He could sense how she was fighting against herself and he wanted to grab her and hold her until she couldn't do anything but give in. But then determination fought off everything else and she was out of reach.

Her eyes were asking his forgiveness as she got to her feet. He wanted to stop her, but Xander's voice splintered the silence, Giles answering him, and the moment was lost. She turned and headed for the guestroom.

She felt like she was fleeing. Crawling under the covers the feeling didn't go away and she forced her eyes closed. It would be unfair to him to pursue this, she wouldn't feel what he felt, she knew it. The longing she felt for him wasn't the beginning of something, it was the need for something that she didn't have. He wasn't the answer to that need.

It'd be unfair, she told herself. You can't lead him on. You have to stop.

So she decided, and fell asleep.


	16. Lightly She Steps

**¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤ Lightly She Steps ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤**

The following morning she woke up well rested and feeling much better about the whole thing. She actually didn't think yesterday had been as bad as she had thought during its various events. It had worked out for the best, helping to eliminate a dark cloud and allowing her to see the sky behind it; that was never a bad thing. She jumped out of bed and grabbed a towel, opening the door silently as Willow was still asleep and sliding out into the hall taking her to the bathroom.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the room and then halting as her eyes met the surprised ones of Spike. Her mouth fell open by its own accord, as all of him was on display. And he was dripping wet. She realized she was staring at the pure avidness of his torso, bandage free and without a scar in sight, and forced her gaze back into his.

"Don't you lock the door?" she got out and he raised one shoulder in a shrug.

"Didn't think anybody was up."

"Well... I'm very much up."

"So I gather," he smirked. "You're not blushing, are you?"

"Does Giles know you're in here?" was all she could think of as a retort.

"This is the one room I actually feel at home in this place, he wouldn't be petty," Spike replied. "Besides, I'm only taking your advice, love. Bloke can't exactly blame me for that," he added and now she did blush.

"Yeah, well, hurry up and finish, please," she said, taking a step back and pulling the door shut with her.

Her heart was positively pounding and she leaned against the wall, feeling frail all over. Well, now she knew one thing that sure hadn't been all in his imagination. She felt absolutely absurd, though. It wasn't normal for her to feel as though she could throw herself over him if he'd only look at her a certain way. She didn't enjoy it.

On the other hand, she did. It made her feel sexy and desired and strong. Not good at all.

The door opened and she jerked slightly. He stepped through it, towel wrapped around his hips. She swallowed, smiling forcedly.

"All yours," he said.

"Thanks," she replied, catching herself watching him walk away and hurrying in through the door, slamming it shut and locking it.

She checked twice that it was actually bolted and then she turned the shower on. Getting undressed her skin was so sensitive that the touch of her own fingers seemed to send her blood boiling, her nipples hardening almost painfully and she closed her eyes as she stepped under the running water. And all she had to do was give him a sign and he'd let her claim him.

Buffy! she reprimanded herself.

No, she knew she couldn't do that to him.

This day seemed to turn out a lot harsher than the previous.

There was the sky, there was the moon, and she had no choice but to hide from all its glory. It was cruel, it was.

She dried herself off with defeated movements.

This so sucks, she muttered in her head, wrapping the towel around her and hesitating before she opened the door and stuck her head out through the slit she had created.

All was clear.

She slid outside and continued into the guestroom, closing the door behind her with her heart in her throat.

Is this how it's gonna be now? she wondered. I avoid him just to make sure I don't...

She shook her head at herself.

Or _he_ doesn't, she continued the thought, thinking of last night and the kiss he had been able to make her share just by touching her.

She felt like crying, but held the tears back.

You can't, she told herself. Not with him. Not with him.

She got dressed, brushed her hair, and joined the others for breakfast.

She frowned when she entered the living room.

"Where's Spike?" she asked casually as she had a seat at the table.

"He had to go," Willow replied, handing her the bread.

"He did?" Buffy wondered, taking a roll and passing the bread to Xander.

"Yeah."

"Did he say why?"

She barely noticed that she got all eyes on her at that.

"No, he just had to go," Xander was the one who replied. "But while we're on the subject – what happened between you when you shared your brains? Honestly."

She looked innocent, pouring herself some coffee.

"What do you mean, 'happened'?"

"What made him do the big one-eighty? Go the heart-o-bleedy? You've got to have done something to him. What was it?"

She swallowed the piece of roll she was chewing with a smile.

"I didn't _do_ anything."

"You must've done _some_thing," Giles remarked and she raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't. Maybe it's the goodness of my nature that rubbed off on him, made him see the big errors of his ways. I _honestly_ don't know," she finished with a look at Xander. "You're not gonna join in?" she then asked Willow, who merely gave her the strangest smile and went back to reading the newspaper.

¤

"He's in love with you," Willow stated half an hour later as they were making the bed of the guestroom, and Buffy's eyes met hers instantly. "Isn't he?" Willow added when there was no further reaction from her friend and Buffy nodded. "You could've told them that."

"How could I have told them that?" she asked, sitting down on the half-made bed.

"You believe him," Willow said and Buffy's head turned to her with a miserable expression, making the Wicca sit down beside her, placing an arm comfortingly around her. "But if he's on our side, then that's a good thing. Just look at what he did yesterday. We never could've pulled it off without him."

"I know," Buffy said. "I know," she repeated, this time it coming out as a whine as she buried her face in her hands.

Willow observed her for another moment, then asked:

"What do you feel?"

Buffy took her time searching for the right words, then mumbled:

"Evil."

"What?" Willow asked, smiling.

"I can never feel what he feels, Will," Buffy answered, lifting her head and the miserable being even clearer. "How could I? So what am I supposed to say to him?"

"You tell him the truth, that's all he can expect from you," Willow said and Buffy buried her face in her palms again.

"The truth," she murmured.

Willow eyed her disheveled appearance and then she asked gently:

"Do you like him, then?"

Buffy paused before looking briefly at Willow, and then she nodded unnoticeably. Tears started falling after it and she leaned into Willow, hiding her face against her shoulder as Willow wrapped her arms around her in a hug.

"Oh," she said comfortingly, stroking her hair. "It's okay," she said, but Buffy's sobs merely grew louder at that. Willow couldn't help but smile, holding her friend closer. "It's okay."

"It's so confusing," Buffy sniffled.

"I know confusing," Willow smiled, patting Buffy's head. "It'll be alright."

Buffy held her friend tighter at that.

¤

Spike brought the lighter to the piece of paper in his hand. Its corner began to glow and then caught fire. He put it with the others in the trash can. They were ashes now. Soon all of them would be. Her face disappearing into the soot. He had drawn her to try and get her out of his mind, but now the wall holding her was coming down. He couldn't look at it without feeling its wrong.

He grabbed the mannequin and threw it into the hole in the wall leading to the tunnels, leaning with his hands against the stones, closing his eyes in frustration.

"I know I asked for a fireplace, but this isn't bohemia," Harmony's voice stated behind him.

He had completely managed to block her out. Now he turned to her. She was looking into the can with a disliking frown.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

"Redecorating," he replied.

"Without me!" she exclaimed. "I'd like something yellow and orange, like a warm summer theme with maybe something coral..."

"Harm," he interrupted her, approaching her and she blinked, looking quizzical. "You need to go."

She furrowed her brow.

"Where? Do I have to guess again, 'cause you know I hate that."

"No," he said gently, having her focus on him. "It's over."

"What is?"

"This."

It took another moment for her to get it, and then she gaped with indignation.

"_You're_ breaking up with _me_!"

He kept down the biting remark he almost replied with and instead he nodded.

"Well!" she said, turning around with her hair flying into his face before stalking up to the chest holding most of her belongings.

She opened the suitcase next to it before leaning forward and grabbing an arm's full of clothes.

"You can just regret this for the rest of eternity for all I care," she stated, throwing the clothes into the suitcase and diving into the chest for more. "You think, after all I've done for you, supporting you with the Slayer business and always sticking up for you when demon's are all oh-he's-batting-for-the-good-guys and playing your stupid sex games, that you won't regret it, you've got another thing coming. You'll _miss_ me."

He kept down the smirk, trying to feel sorry for her, but finding it too difficult and so he merely exited up the ladder. He considered closing the trapdoor, but discarded it. A familiar scent filled his nostrils and he turned his eyes on the door, his head tilting slightly to the side as his gaze met Buffy's.

"Hi," she said tentatively.

She must have just stepped inside.

"Hi," he replied with a slight smile.

How he had hoped she'd show.

"Everything okay?" she asked. "You... just left."

"Everything's fine," he answered. "Just had this thing I needed to do."

"Oh. And you did it?"

"Taken care of."

"And did I mention I hate it when you smoke inside, and that cheap scotch you buy – yuk!" Harmony's voice rang from below.

Buffy's eyebrows rose.

"Quarreling?"

"No, no. She's always loud when she packs, helps her think."

Buffy smiled a little.

"Going somewhere?"

"Yes, she's leaving Sunnydale. I told her I can't protect her from you anymore. She's scared for her life... or what you wanna call it."

"And another thing," she now yelled. "I think you should see someone about this obsession you have with the _Slayer_! It's not _healthy_! Especially since you can squash her about as much as you can squash a spider – which is _not_. _Look_ at this place! Webs _every_where. I'm glad I finally get to leave without having to feel _sorry_ for you! And, f.y.i. – you can take that ugly thing you call a coat and shove it up your..."

Spike kicked the trapdoor shut with a strained smile.

"She seems very clear-headed," Buffy nodded.

"You don't like my coat?" he asked, surprised.

"No, _I_ like it!" she assured, checking herself and smiling again. "I mean, I do," she admitted. "But you do have a lot of webs," she added and his smile softened. "And an obsession?"

"Don't think it has anything to do with you, love, I've had _that_ for decades."

"Charming."

He smirked.

"Look, these past few days have been..." Buffy began, but the trapdoor was pushed open and Harmony's eyes widened at the sight of her, at first with clear fright, and then sudden dismay.

"Wonderful," she huffed, climbing up. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised, should I?" she added with a glare at Spike, before turning to Buffy, asking: "Heard I was leaving?" Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Fine," the vampiress stated, getting into a very questionable fighting stance. "I have to warn you, I've been practicing."

Buffy bit back a smile, turning her eyes in Spike's. He, on the other hand, couldn't hold his amusement back.

"Harm," he said, as he concluded Buffy didn't want to make herself part of this situation. "The Slayer's here on business, not to pick a fight."

Buffy cocked one eyebrow at that and he smirked slightly, Harmony's eyes going suspiciously from him to Buffy.

"What sort of business?"

His gaze met the Slayer's, and he wasn't sure what he could see in her expression.

"The settling-of kind," he answered Harmony, Buffy smiling unnoticeably.

"Sure, I'll get out of your way, just came up to grab a candle stick that _happens_ to be mine," Harmony said, slipping past Spike, stopping as she reached Buffy. "I just have to say I really appreciate your not staking me, I think I've more to accomplish then living in a tomb with _that_," she said, giving Spike another glare at the last word. "And also, I've always admired your hair. Do you use a special kind of shampoo?"

"Harm!" Spike growled and she shrunk back before grabbing the candle stick in question, made out of porcelain and shaped as a rather elaborate unicorn, Spike feeling gratitude to be rid of the thing, and then she moved back to the trapdoor, disappearing down it with one last furious look at him.

"I'm taking the tunnels!" she called up. "Don't even think of following me, even when you realize what you've done. It's too late. I'm out of your life, Blondie Bear."

With that she was gone, and the Slayer and the Vampire faced one another again, silence reigning for a short while until Spike asked:

"Want a drink?"

"After 'Blondie Bear'?" She looked thoughtful for a second, then finished: "Yes. Please."

He smirked; going into the nook he called a kitchen. He grabbed two glasses and the whiskey bottle he kept there and rejoined her where she had taken a seat in the armchair. He poured her some of the liquid, handing her the glass before doing the same for himself. They glanced at each other, but neither said a toast as they brought the glasses to their lips. Buffy had a sip, making a face at the sting of the alcohol. Spike swallowed the whole of the contents down in one swoop and grabbed the bottle again.

"Spike..." she said, but he shook his head a little.

"Slayer, we really don't have to..."

"No, we really do. _I_ really do," she disagreed and he rested his eyes in her for a long moment, before he put the bottle back down, his glass refilled, and leaned back slightly in wait for her to continue. "Now I'm not sure what I wanna say," she mumbled, looking down at the drink in her hands.

"You started it off well enough before. 'These past few days...'," he reminded and she smiled a small smile, bringing the whiskey to her lips once more, sipping it, making another face and having her gaze back in his.

"It's weird how they feel like a dream, isn't it? It was so real when we were in the middle of all of it," she said and he nodded. "Sure taught me a lesson," she mumbled. "Or was that you?"

He smiled crookedly and she returned it, having another taste of the whiskey before holding the glass up, having a look at the amber-colored fluid.

"How cheap is this, exactly?" she inquired.

He furrowed his brow.

"It's decent enough," he replied, offended.

She smiled, raising her eyes to his face. The way she looked at him soothed away any harm her words might've caused, but he didn't return the smile until she said:

"Bad joke."

"What would you have me treating you to?" he wondered, smile still present.

"I didn't come for a treat," she replied, putting the glass down and turning her gaze back in his, finding him squatted down before her.

She felt a surge of careful need when she took in his hands, knowing how tenderly they could touch her, and how powerfully they could entice, convince. She clenched her jaws together, pushing the urges back down.

"What did you come for?" he asked silently.

"You said it yourself – the settling of business."

"Business?"

"The defining of business, then," she said. His smile faded and she swallowed, wanting to stop, but knowing that he needed to hear this; and that she had to say it. "What you did, you didn't just help save me, you saved them. You saved Dawn."

"I didn't..."

"I believe in you," she stopped him and he stared at her, slowly straightening himself up and she stood as well. "I've seen the good in you. I've felt it. And I want it with me."

"What're you saying?"

"Right here, right now – a clean slate. That's all I can offer you."

"Join the Gang? Fight the good fight? Alongside the witch and Apeface?"

"Alongside _me_," she said.

He eyed her for such a long time that she began to grow uncomfortable, his gaze always seemed to see exactly what was moving in her soul and it made her feel the need to fidget.

"Is that all you want?" he asked and she tensed slightly as he took a step closer.

He noticed it, his eyes unrelenting now. She hesitated, but finally answered:

"No. No, it isn't." She paused, holding his gaze. "I do want you," she then said. "But you love me." He furrowed his brow. "You love me," she repeated simply, turning and heading up to the door.

"Buffy," he stopped her and she looked back at him.

"I can't stay," she said at the nearly pleading expression he wore. "Spike, I don't love you," she added, barely able to say the words since she knew how they would cut him.

And she could see it, his face saddening itself into something not far from innocence.

He was William once more.

She reached for the door handle, and his stance shifted itself into being all Spike; something fiercely self-assured coming over him as he held her gaze before he said:

"You will."

She watched him for a short moment, but then she had to smile, shaking her head just a little at him as she stepped out through the door, wondering what the fates would throw at her next.

A herd of fire-spouting dragons? A nest of Master vamps? A spell that turns people inside out? Whatever it is, bring it on. I'm ready for it, she thought. I am _so_ ready for it.


End file.
